The Mirror
by Silbrith
Summary: Keller is back in town with his sights set on ancient Egyptian artifacts. Neal hears about inquiries being made for a painting he'd stolen. The hunt for Adler begins in earnest. H/C: angst, abduction. Fluff: Valentine's Day, sci-fi convention. Feb-Mar 2005. #14 in Caffrey Conversation AU where Peter recruited Neal instead of arresting him.
1. Under the Microscope

_Notes: Although this story is part of a series, it can stand on its own. In the pre-series Caffrey Conversation AU, which was created by Penna Nomen, Peter recruited Neal in 2003 when he was 24. In exchange for a confession and help in recovering stolen items, he was given immunity for past crimes and started working for the FBI as a consultant. Readers new to this AU may wish to refer to the notes at the end of this chapter for additional background information. The Mirror takes place in February 2005. Neal is working as a consultant at the White Collar Division of the FBI while going part-time to Columbia University for a dual master's in art._

* * *

 **Chapter 1: Under the Microscope**

 **Federal Building. February 10, 2005. Thursday morning.**

"Did you bring it?" Diana asked Neal.

He nodded. "I left it at my desk. Where's Peter?" The morning briefing was scheduled to start. Jones, Diana, and Travis were already present in the conference room when Neal arrived.

"He called in," Jones said. "His meeting with Hughes is running late." Travis, White Collar's electronics expert, had pulled up a circuitry diagram to study on his laptop. Neal flipped open his notepad. If Peter were delayed very long, there was always doodling.

"Diana, what's the name of that restaurant you like so much on East 46th Street?" Jones asked.

"Vitae. It's Christie's favorite restaurant."

"Any chance they'd have a table free for Valentine's Day?"

She gave a laugh. "You must be kidding. That's only a few days away."

Jones groaned. "I shouldn't have waited so long to make reservations. Now Helen's favorite restaurant is full and I've struck out at all my backup choices as well."

"You could cook," Neal suggested.

"No, you could cook," Jones retorted. "Have you ever heard me mention cooking anything? There's a reason for that. Somehow I don't think slapping a frozen pizza in the oven would win me many points with Helen. Maybe Delmonico's has a table free. What do you have planned for Fiona, Caffrey?"

Before Neal could reply, Peter walked into the room, cutting short any more talk of Valentine's Day activities. Judging by the somber expression on his face, Peter was in no mood for jokes. "Sorry for the delay," he said. "Hughes had received news about Azathoth."

So that was the reason. The cybercriminal—nicknamed Azathoth because of his fascination with the world of Cthulhu Mythos created by the horror author H.P. Lovecraft—had been on their hit list since they'd first encountered his malware last fall. Their pursuit had turned personal when he kidnapped Peter and Neal last October and followed it up in January with a malicious hoax on Peter. His behavior verged on the criminally insane.

Peter took a seat and connected his laptop to the projector. "As you no doubt recall, the first known museum security system to be hacked by Azathoth's malware was the Prague National Gallery in February of last year. The Czech police detective in charge of that investigation has just been found dead." He paused for a moment to let the news sink in. "The malware used to attack the security program had only been identified last month. After its activation for the robbery, it disguised itself and entered a dormant state. The assumption is that it had been left in place in order to be reactivated by Azathoth at some future time."

"Any indication that Azathoth was responsible for the death of the agent?" Jones asked.

"The bizarre nature of the crime points in his direction," he confirmed. "The detective's body was discovered at the Prague Aquapalace. When the building crew arrived in the morning to perform maintenance on the indoor pool, they discovered his corpse floating on his back with a latex octopus glued onto his face." Peter pulled up a photo of the crime scene and displayed it on the wall screen. "The detective had been struck on the head. Apparently the octopus was glued on while he was unconscious. Death was caused by suffocation, the octopus having effectively prevented any air from entering his lungs. The swimming pool played no role in his death except to serve as a stage prop."

"That octopus looks like a cruel parody of the giant one they display next to the pool," Travis commented, pointing to a large octopus sculpture next to a lighthouse among the pool decorations.

Peter nodded in agreement. "The octopus that was used in the crime is being analyzed to determine the exact composition. This is the first death we've heard of which is associated with Azathoth."

"Another tentacle-face? What's with the fascination this guy has for tentacles?" Neal muttered. When they'd been kidnapped, a man in a tentacle-faced costume had attacked him.

Diana shrugged. "He probably appropriated them from Lovecraft. The author referred to many of the deities in the Cthulhu Mythos as having multiple limbs or being starfish-shaped. We know Azathoth's already claimed Lovecraft's glowing branch symbol for his malware and that house of horror where he held you and Peter captive was filled with imagery taken from the author's work. Sounds to me like he did the same thing here. One of Lovecraft's main deities, Cthulhu, is described as having the head of an octopus and living in an underwater city."

"We'd already planned to make Azathoth a higher priority this week," Peter said. "After this incident, that's a certainty. I've talked with Tricia. She'll meet with us tomorrow morning." Peter had requested Agent Tricia Wiese be assigned to act as behavior analyst for Azathoth, and approval had come through last week. When Neal started working at White Collar, Tricia had been a member of Peter's team. The fact that she was already familiar with the case made her help with Azathoth all the more desirable. Peter added, "She'll want status reports from all of you on your work." He turned to Travis. "Aidan's still coming in this afternoon, right?"

Travis nodded. "He'll bring the contract with him."

"What does Tricia think of us employing a friend of Neal's from Columbia?" Jones asked. "You gotta admit, his company isn't the standard type of outfit the FBI deals with."

"That's precisely why Tricia likes the idea," Peter replied. "He should be off Azathoth's radar, and if he can deliver the antivirus program he's scoped out for us, we'll be able to render Azathoth's malware impotent."

From talk of Azathoth the meeting moved to updates on the other cases the agents were working on. Neal got the impression Peter was trying to clear the books to focus on the hot topics. And of course the other major pot-boiler was the man Peter had nicknamed the Dutchman.

Earlier this week they'd identified him as Curtis Hagen, and ever since then they'd been trying to track him down. But, just like his namesake, the man had once again seemingly disappeared into the fog. In the previous case, Hagen had been identified as the probable forger of a Corot painting, but forging a painting wasn't a crime in itself. To be prosecuted, he needed to be caught in the act of selling a forgery or committing a robbery. The team was pinning its hopes on making a case by tying the Dutchman to the theft of Raphael's painting, _St. George and the Dragon_. The painting had been stolen the previous summer from the National Gallery of Art in D.C.

"All we have so far to connect Hagen to the Raphael is one shredded photo of the painting," Diana pointed out. "There's nothing incriminating about that."

"You're right," Peter acknowledged, "but it's suggestive." He turned to Neal, "If you were Hagen, why would you have shredded the photo?"

Neal considered for a moment. "Before answering your question, we need to return to the circumstances of the original theft. A famous painting like _St. George and the Dragon_ isn't as lucrative as you might think. It can be difficult to find a buyer. Often a theft such as this one is a commission job. A thief wants sufficient incentive before shouldering the risk. But if that were the case, there'd be no reason for Hagen to shred a photo of it now. The painting had been stolen from the museum in August. He'd already have his money and not be interested in it. So that's the first question. If it wasn't a commission, why did he do it?"

"For the thrill?" Jones asked.

"Not likely," Neal said. "Hagen's been in the business too long. Typically those doing it for the thrill are young and just starting out, not someone like Hagen." No one picked up on that comment, for which Neal was grateful. He'd done his share of robberies for stupid reasons, like trying to impress a girl, and appreciated not being reminded of it. "The second question is why didn't Hagen replace the Raphael with a forgery? If he had, the theft might still be undetected. Hagen's an excellent forger. The painting's small enough to be easily replaced. Why didn't he?"

"You're the expert. You tell us," Peter challenged.

"One possibility is that there wasn't enough time. He was taking advantage of a sudden opportunity which presented itself. Maybe he detected a weakness in the security system or there was some lapse in protocol. It could have been as simple as one less guard than normal. The guard may have had a sick child at home. Hagen was there, saw the opportunity, and seized it. Some of the best crimes, hypothetically speaking of course, occur that way. They're not planned in advance."

"Let's run with that," Peter said. "Hagen stole the painting but he was acting on his own. Maybe it was a last minute decision. He didn't have a commission. What happens next? He has the painting and wants to get as much as he can for it. Would he use a fence to sell it?"

"Possibly," Neal said, "but that's less lucrative than you might think. On the black market he's not going to get very much for it. But what if he had several Raphaels? Then it begins to look much more attractive."

"What do you mean?" Jones demanded. "He stole other paintings by Raphael?"

Neal shook his head. "No. Remember Hagen's primarily a forger. So he'll focus on what he does best. Forge the Raphael. Make multiple copies. If he's smart and discrete, he could sell several as originals—a dozen, perhaps even more. It takes time to find the buyers, of course, but the market is large. Crime syndicates are buying up art as investments. Wealthy individuals who are not particularly knowledgeable about art present easy targets. Particularly in South America and Asia, the number of potential buyers is staggering. Hagen would need to handle it carefully and not flood the market. But he could potentially sell the same painting for years. And now that he has the original to use as a model, his own forgeries could potentially be so accurate, they'd be difficult to distinguish from the original."

"And that would explain why he didn't replace the original," Travis noted. "He wanted the theft to be discovered so that the world knows there's a missing Raphael which can be purchased."

"Exactly," Neal confirmed.

"That shredded photo we found could have been included in correspondence to a potential buyer," Diana added. "Plus, under this scenario, it wouldn't even be necessary for Hagen to have stolen the original. He could simply be taking advantage of someone else's robbery to market his own copies."

"We can work with that," Peter said. "Jones, I want you and Diana to develop a strategy. Create a buyer who matches the profile of someone Hagen would target. Build up a background able to withstand careful scrutiny. Travis, you set the protocol for monitoring communications and inquiries about art acquisitions. I also want you to work with Neal on how best to put out feelers that our buyer wants to invest in a Raphael. If this sting is going to work, it's going to have to pass muster with the black market."

At the conclusion of the meeting, Diana walked down to the bullpen with Neal. He retrieved the gift package from his desk and placed it in front of her. "As requested, two bottles of honey wine." Yes, Neal Caffrey—the FBI's ace consultant for the White Collar task force—was now a wine merchant as well.

She nodded with satisfaction. "Thanks. Christie's cooking tonight. I told her I'd bring something special to have with dinner."

It was hard to believe that Mozzie's new business was less than two months old. When he first mentioned to Neal that he was going into the Hawaiian organic honey business with his friend Billy Feng, owner of the Aloha Emporium, Neal had scoffed. Then, when Mozzie explained that he'd also use the honey to blend a gourmet line of honey wines, it made more sense. But even Mozzie couldn't have predicted that his honey wines would become so popular. He'd at first planned to market them online, but the demand in New York, and particularly around Columbia University where the Emporium was located, had been so overwhelming that Mozzie had tabled any notions of expansion till they had more personnel.

Neal felt he could claim some of the credit for the venture's success. After all, he'd helped Mozzie refine the blends of chardonnay, flower extracts, and honey used in the various wines. For this Valentine's Day wine, called Honey Wine for Lovers, they'd added essence of perfumed passion flower. Neal had also designed the label—a Puckish Cupid with bow and arrow in a moonlit Hawaiian landscape. He'd used a style reminiscent of Gauguin for the labels and had enjoyed adding the ghost of Mozzie's expression to Cupid's mischievous face.

Wine merchant chores accomplished, Neal headed for the lab. Travis had already rolled his chair over to his niche, a corner of the lab which Neal had appropriated for his workstation. The space wasn't large, but had ample storage, essential for his authentication and art supplies. Together they worked on identifying the key words that Travis could use to act as filters and compiling a list of websites and publications that would need to be monitored.

When midday rolled around, they were ready to call timeout. Both of them had brown-bagged it for lunch. When they arrived in the breakroom, Peter was already sitting at the table with a sandwich. Neal pulled out his chicken wrap from the fridge. Travis had also brought a wrap. "What kind did you bring?" Neal asked him.

"Richard calls this my Elvis sandwich – peanut butter, banana, and tempeh bacon," he said, taking a seat at the table.

Peter looked at Travis in surprise. "I thought you were a vegetarian."

"Your assumption is correct," Travis said calmly, giving an excellent Spock inflection to his voice. It almost sounded like he should have added "captain" at the end.

When Travis didn't appear inclined to offer any further explanation, Peter persisted. "Then explain the bacon."

"Tempeh bacon is made from soy beans. Some people call it fakin' bacon. You should try it."

Peter dismissed the offer with a wave of the hand. "No thanks. I'm happy to stick with my deviled ham." He slanted a glance at Neal. "I saw that smile."

"Just admiring your predictability."

Travis's cell phone buzzed. He glanced at the display and answered. "Hey, Mozzie."

Peter shot a questioning look at Neal who simply shrugged. Mozzie and Travis had struck up their friendship last month when Travis invited him to a SETI meeting. Since then they'd bonded over electronics. Neal suspected Mozzie was calling to wheedle a consult on some device he was using. Travis listened without making many comments, his expression growing more perplexed the more he listened. When he turned off his phone, Neal asked him what it was about, half-dreading the answer.

"I'm not sure if it was a good idea to include Mozzie on the SETI steering committee. When I invited him last month, it seemed to work out, but now I have my doubts." Travis glanced over at Neal. "You did warn me."

"You're investigating radio signals, aren't you?" Peter asked.

"Correct. We prepare the initial analysis of data sent in by volunteers and then transmit them to Berkeley. Mozzie had some novel ideas on how to filter the results. One of the main challenges is to identify which anomalies are most likely not to be random noise. His contributions have been excellent, but researching possible signals from alien worlds may be too impressionable a field of study for him."

"What's he done now?" Neal asked uneasily.

Travis raised a brow. "Discovered evidence of extraterrestrials here in New York, in fact on the Columbia University campus."

Neal groaned. He should have realized this was coming. Mozzie's obsession with space aliens was equal if not greater than his fascination with Nazi clones.

"You two worked with him on the Azathoth case. How did you keep him focused?" Travis asked.

"The puzzle Azathoth used was so complex to solve, it was never an issue," Peter said. "You may be able to use his newfound discoveries and channel them into a useful direction. Mozzie's an incredibly hard worker if he's inspired. It's all a matter of channeling him onto the right path."

Neal chuckled. "High praise, coming from a suit."

"True enough, but I've come to appreciate his unique skill set."

While they'd been talking, Travis had been listening carefully as he munched on his Elvis wrap. Swallowing a bite, he said, "Peter, you're into astronomy, too. Neal told me about the telescope you built. Any chance you'd like to attend our meetings?"

Shaking his head, Peter gave a laugh. "Oh sure, then you'd delegate me to be in charge of Mozzie. I'm not that much of a sucker."

Travis was not easily dissuaded. "Hear me out. This may be right up your alley. The professor who heads our SETI group, Daniel Leavitt, is also in charge of the astronomy public viewing nights. Once a month the public's invited to free observing sessions at the observatory on top of Pupin Hall. It's good outreach to the community. Leavitt would like to broaden it to include classes on telescope-making. He hopes to get something started on Saturday afternoons and is targeting kids. You'd be a natural with your knowledge of telescopes."

Peter hesitated before replying. "The idea has promise, but you better count me out. I'm no good with kids."

"Don't sell yourself short. You're doing a great job with the one sitting next to you," Travis deadpanned. "He was just a juvenile delinquent till you took him on."

Two could play this game. "Yeah, Peter. You need to cut me some slack and work on someone else for a change."

Peter snorted. "You don't think you present me with enough challenges, so I need to add to them?"

Plainly, Peter was intrigued by the idea despite his protests. Neal hoped it would work out. He could picture Peter with a group of eager-faced kids surrounding him as he introduced them to the stars. "You could combine the workshops with coming to my fencing matches. The gym is close to Pupin Hall."

"I'd planned to meet with Aidan some of the time at Columbia to save him the trek of coming down to the Federal Building," Travis added. "We could schedule the occasional update on Saturday."

Laughing, Peter held up a hand. "I'm sensing a conspiracy, but you're making good arguments. I'll think it over." He glanced down at his watch. "Aidan's coming in at two o'clock, right?"

"Yeah, I talked with him about it yesterday after fencing practice," Neal said. "He'd spoken with his lawyer and received his approval to proceed." No need to tell Peter which lawyer Aidan was using.

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

After lunch, Peter reviewed the summary information Travis had prepared about Aidan. Hughes had scheduled a meeting with Peter for one o'clock and the project would most likely be on the agenda. Peter first met Aidan at Family Day in Columbia when Neal introduced him as a fellow visual arts grad student. Peter didn't find out about Aidan's day job as a programmer for a cybersecurity firm until much later. Last week Travis suggested using his expertise in the battle against Azathoth, and today Aidan was scheduled to bring in his contract. Normally the process would have taken much longer, but mounting concern over Azathoth had given Hughes the leverage he needed to fast-track it.

Travis had prepared a thorough evaluation of both Aidan and his company as part of the vetting process, but Peter suspected the main reason he was recommending Aidan was left out of the report. In November when Garrett Fowler tried to frame Neal for the theft of a pair of diamond earrings from the FBI vault, OPR had mandated Neal wear a tracking anklet. The only one at the FBI with any knowledge of the con Neal had been able to finesse to apprehend the real thief was Travis. Even Peter's understanding was murky and unconfirmed. Peter believed Travis had worked with Aidan and Mozzie to hack Neal's anklet and in the process acquired a first-hand demonstration of Aidan's abilities. This was one instance where Peter would forever ignore the means used to achieve the goal. The correct thief was apprehended and that was what mattered.

When Peter met Hughes at his office, though, Aidan was not the top item on the agenda. Instead Hughes provided more information about the murder in Prague. "Interpol sent us a second bulletin about the detective," Hughes said, his craggy face looking more creased than usual. "Apparently he'd been missing for days. He'd scheduled vacation time with his family, so his absence at work wasn't questioned. After his body was found, his wife was contacted at the Czech ski resort where she was staying with their children. She informed them her husband had been called away to go back to work five days earlier. Czech authorities are attempting to trace that call now."

"Have they discovered any other connection to Lovecraft?"

Hughes nodded. "The previous week the detective had received in the mail a deck of playing cards to a Lovecraft game." Hughes looked at his notes. " _Call of Cthulhu_ is the name of it. How the hell do you pronounce that anyway?"

Peter chuckled in sympathy. "The unexpected challenges to our jobs. Jones researched it. Supposedly you leave out a lot of the letters and say _klul–lu_. It's suspected that Lovecraft's spelling was one of the oddball jokes he liked to play. Azathoth's own sick tricks may be a distorted reflection of that personality trait." He paused for a moment. "That card Azathoth sent me last month with the image of Neal on it? It was from the same card game."

"The sadistic cruelty of that photo …" Hughes shook his head. "I don't need to tell you that you and Neal need to be on a heightened state of alert after what happened in Prague."

"But as a practical matter what can we do?" Peter asked, not caring if Hughes saw his frustration. "We can't walk around with an armed escort. Who knows how long that would need to be maintained? The FBI doesn't have the resources. Out best tactic is to track him down and expose him before he commits any more crimes."

"I hear you, Peter, and I freely admit the traditional methods the Bureau uses to hunt down a criminal have been ineffective against Azathoth. That's why when you requested your team be allowed to research Lovecraft fan groups in connection to him I sanctioned it despite my own misgivings."

"I remember it well," Peter said. Tamping down Hughes's scorn for the tactic had been a major challenge.

"Aside from the glowing branch symbol being used on the malware, there was initially little connection to Lovecraft. But your experiences when you were kidnapped showed the accuracy of your assessment, and it's the best angle we have. How long have Jones and Berrigan been at it now?"

"About two months. It's too early to evaluate how successful they'll be, but it's not taking up much of their time. In fact both work on their projects mainly in off hours."

Hughes grunted as he tapped with his pen on the folder. "And now I've signed off on allowing a hacker to access FBI files." Hughes meant that as an insult, but Aidan probably would consider it a badge of honor.

"Aidan is hardly your standard hacker," Peter countered. "When we vetted his company, Root32, we were impressed by the record they've accumulated in such a short period of time. The company was started by five MIT computer science grad students eight years ago. Aidan's been with them for three years. Their reputation among their peers in cybersecurity is excellent. And perhaps equally important, the fee they're charging us falls within our budget. If we'd gone to one of the major players in the field, with the budget we have, we would have been laughed out of their office."

Hughes acknowledged Peter's remarks with a wave of his hand. "I don't dispute anything you say. The fee they're charging is low enough that it allowed me to cut through much of the red tape that would typically be required."

Peter nodded in agreement. "By using Aidan's company, a relative unknown, the risk of discovery will be much less and the time, not to mention money, we're saving by being able to circumvent the standard bidding process puts us months ahead of where we'd be otherwise."

"But for you to pursue the Azathoth case, we have to fight a battle on two fronts, and you know it. D.C. Art Crimes is only allowing us to have the case because of your personal association but they're not thrilled about it. I talked with Kramer last week, and it was plain he's looking for any excuse to take it over."

Hughes wasn't telling Peter anything he didn't already know. Azathoth was too high a profile for Kramer not to want the case. "The situation with Azathoth is not that dissimilar to what we have with Adler. They're both international in scope, and we're limited as to what we can do."

"Don't remind me." The Adler case was a sore subject with Hughes. When Adler fled to Argentina after the debacle over the Ponzi scheme, it had rankled Hughes deeply to have the man slip through their fingers. Fowler now was in Argentina too, the presumption being he'd been working for Adler when he attempted to frame Neal. As long as they remained in Argentina, they were out of the FBI's jurisdiction.

Hughes sat back in his chair and crossed his arms. "No second thoughts about Aidan Phillips working on the case?"

"None," Peter said confidently. "I've gotten to know Aidan personally since he's a close friend of Neal's. He may seem unorthodox to the Bureau, but that's part of his strength. A hacker to beat Azathoth at his own game is exactly what we need."

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

"Welcome to White Collar," Neal said when he greeted Aidan at the elevator bank. This was Aidan's first visit and he surveyed the bullpen with obvious curiosity. His attire of hoodie and jeans was probably not going to win him any praise from Hughes, but for a cybersecurity expert, it seemed fitting.

Neal provided a quick tour of the bullpen before Peter gave them the double finger point to head upstairs. Aidan nudged Neal as he muttered, "I was waiting for that. Your description was on the money. The stern look. The two fingers. I need to practice that. It could come in handy."

Travis was already in the conference room when they arrived. When he greeted Aidan, Peter asked him if he had any questions about the contract. "I know the legalese can seem daunting. I believe this is your first time to work for the federal government on a project."

"You got that right. We had our lawyers review it and then I brought in a top legal eagle to examine it."

Travis eyed him expectantly. Giving him a grin, Aidan said, "Yep, it's been vetted by the Mozz himself."

"And you still signed it?" Peter asked. "I'm surprised he didn't add ten codicils in Latin."

"He recommended them," Aidan admitted, "but I thought it was overkill. That does bring up one question I have, though. Mozzie is intrigued at what we're planning. I assume there won't be any problem if I consult with him. I understand that no specifics of the case can be discussed, but Mozzie has some interesting theories about encryption which could prove helpful."

Neal liked the way Aidan was dealing with Peter. He had a brash self-confidence that Hughes might find abrasive but Peter had been worn down enough by Neal's own impudence that he'd built up a certain tolerance. Aidan's idea to bring in Mozzie as an advisor was an excellent one and Neal was eager to reinforce the argument.

Peter eyed the two of them. "I assume Mozzie's participation is strictly advisory. He couldn't have any access to the data. Any payments will be the responsibility of Root32."

Peter's mention of payments was a curveball Aidan hadn't expected, and he looked questioningly at Neal.

Neal shrugged. "He doesn't work for free."

"But if I throw in some consults on the evidence for extraterrestrials that he's found at Columbia, he'll probably be quite reasonable," Travis added.

Aidan's eyes widened. "Talk with me later," he muttered to Travis.

"What's your time estimate for the project?" Peter asked.

"I hope to have a prototype ready in two months," Aidan said. "The reason Azathoth's malware has been so difficult to detect is that he's making use of quantum cryptography for communications with the infected computers. The signals are impossible to track by standard methods. I made that discovery when I performed the initial analysis of the program used at the Met in the September robbery attempt. I had only two examples to work with, but the program had been transformed from the Met robbery to the one in the Brooklyn Museum. Azathoth is also using quantum cryptographic protocol to obscure the malware itself. In other words, each instance looks totally different. Simply because you understand how the malware worked at the Met doesn't mean you'll know how it worked in Brooklyn, or for that matter any other museum in the future."

"But we've made progress in detecting the malware after the robbery," Peter countered.

"You're right," Travis confirmed. "Lately it appears that Azathoth puts all his resources into obscuring the malware before the fact. Once he's implemented it, he's no longer interested in hiding it. He wants to take a victory lap."

"In the ideal countermeasure, what capabilities do you want it to have?" Aidan asked.

"Identify the malware when it's infiltrated the security program," Peter said.

"Not only that. Identify the source of the malware," Travis added.

"The malware is harmless until it's activated. But once it's activated, security personnel should receive an alert." Neal said. "The source of the signal that activates the malware should also be identified."

"Is all that going to be possible?" Peter demanded.

"We should be able to achieve that," Aidan said with the same easy confidence that he displayed when he said he could hack Neal's anklet. The slight grin he tossed Neal indicated he hadn't forgotten that moment either.

 **Aloha Emporium. February 10, 2005. Thursday evening.**

At the end of the work day at the Bureau, Neal took the subway to Columbia to resume his life as Columbia grad student and now space alien investigator. Mozzie hadn't been satisfied with telling Travis about his discovery. He also called Neal, commanding him to meet him in his bunker. Neal had once teased Peter about the location of a _Men in Black_ floor at the Bureau. He hadn't realized it would be next door to Columbia.

The Aloha Emporium where Mozzie had his bunker was only a block south of the main campus. Since he'd become immersed in his persona of honey merchant, he spent most of his time at the Emporium. Last month he'd constructed a bunker—a hidden refuge which was entered through a storage cabinet in Billy's basement.

When Neal opened the door, he set off the bamboo wind chimes, but their tinkling was almost drowned out by the din of the shoppers. The approach of Valentine's Day apparently was good for business. Neal stopped off in the café in the back of the store to grab a rice bowl before heading down to the bunker. He could eat his dinner while listening to Mozzie's latest looming apocalypse.

His cousin Angela was sitting at one of the café tables with an open laptop in front of her. Angela was in the graduate ethnomusicology program at Columbia. She'd been hired by Billy to help with the books and had quickly expanded her role to be in charge of the honey-based skin care line.

Neal placed his order for a teriyaki rice bowl at the counter and went over to talk to her. "Is all this business for Valentine's Day?" he asked.

She nodded. "We can't keep the Valentine's wine in stock. I attribute much of its success to the label you designed. Who could resist your Cupid?"

He sat down next to her. "I have to confess it's my favorite label to date."

"Does Mozzie know he was the inspiration?"

"He hasn't said anything, although he did remark on how handsome the Cupid was."

She laughed. "He knows, all right. We're due to receive another shipment tomorrow morning. It was going to be a promotion only for Valentine's Day, but we've been receiving requests to carry it year-round. And we're nearly sold out of honey lip gloss. Hawaii better start growing more passion flower to keep up with the demand."

"Has Michael given you any hints on what he's planning?"

She gave him a Cheshire cat grin. "What makes you think he's doing anything? We've only been dating a few weeks."

"Uh-huh. Remember, he's in my contemporary art seminar. I've been the lucky one who has to listen to him rhapsodize over you. Lately, he's been asking me about your favorite foods. You know, it'd be a big help if you'd provide reference materials for me so I wouldn't lead him astray."

"Okay, he's invited me over for dinner. Says he has something special in mind. I told him I'd bring the wine . . . and be wearing pomegranate passion flower lip gloss."

Neal chuckled and left to pick up his order at the counter. He then headed down the narrow flight of stairs to the basement. Much of the basement was devoted to a martial arts training area with floor-to-ceiling mirrors along one wall and large wooden cabinets lining the other walls. Billy was an expert in martial arts—a fact few knew—but then much about Billy was mysterious.

Neal strode across the basement to the far wall of cabinets. Making a final check that no one was around, he pressed his thumb to the scanner, entered the access code on the door, and opened it. This was the entrance to Mozzie's bunker, a combination office and safe refuge in case of impending nuclear disaster or a wide-ranging host of other catastrophes. It was not only Mozzie's work area but also served as emergency living quarters. He had a futon for sleeping, a tiny kitchenette and a bathroom. It was equipped with water reserves, backup power generator, and an air filtration system designed by NASA. One of the best aspects of it was that it opened in the back to a long-forgotten side branch of the Columbia tunnel system. Mozzie could use it to traverse the Columbia University campus underground, exiting at any of a number of points. It was the most secure of any of his safe houses to date.

Mozzie barely looked up when Neal entered. He was working at his computer which had been connected to a microscope. Waving him an invitation to sit down, he muttered something unintelligible. Esperanto for aliens? Neal sat on the futon and started on his rice bowl. He noticed Mozzie had an open bottle of wine on the table and helped himself. Decent Bordeaux. He was glad to see Mozzie didn't only drink honey wine now.

Mozzie scribbled some notes in a small notepad that bristled like a porcupine with stickies and torn-off bits of paper. He then spun around in his chair to face Neal. "I knew you'd arrived when you were on the stairs."

"Surveillance camera?"

Mozzie nodded. "The low light image sensor allows me to identify images in the darkest of conditions. If the intruder is unknown or hostile, I have an inner steel door that I can trigger to reinforce the first one."

"I assume you have the same security system in place for the tunnel entrance."

"Naturally. I can even trigger the inner doors remotely. Some might scoff at my precautions."

"Not me," Neal said hastily.

"Obviously, not you." Although his trust was touching, Neal was not particularly flattered to be considered as paranoid as Mozzie. "And, given the nature of what I'm going to reveal, extra security is warranted." With that, Mozzie flipped a switch on a control box next to him and Neal heard the steel doors descend with the rapidity of a guillotine.

"Come, take a look." Mozzie pulled up an image on his monitor. Neal got up and stood behind him. "This displays the contents of the slide under the microscope. What does it tell you?"

Neal studied the network of golden ochre threads on the monitor. "It's fractal. Organic I'm guessing. Algae perhaps?"

"Very good." Mozzie nodded approvingly. "Your course on computational art is paying dividends. A month ago you wouldn't have known what a fractal was and now you can identify one."

Now that was flattering. Just call him Neal Caffrey, fractal whiz. Given all the grief that course was costing him to simply stay afloat, Mozzie's words were particularly gratifying.

"Observe." Mozzie replaced the image with a second one of polygonal shapes. "What can you tell me about this one?"

"It looks a little like the honeycomb fractal we saw at Janet's exhibition in January."

"That's because it's the same one." Mozzie got up and poured himself a glass of wine. The light in the bunker was dim and it was making his glasses cast strange shadows on his face. It was getting spooky.

"That slime under the microscope is no ordinary slime. I discovered it along one of the old brick walls in the tunnel system. Its fractal pattern is totally unlike any other slime fractal I've analyzed, and believe me when I say I've examined thousands."

"I believe you."

Mozzie continued unabated. "When I analyzed the fractal it became clear, that the mathematics are identical to the honeycomb fractal." Mozzie stared bug-eyed at him for his reaction, but Neal was less than shattered by his revelation.

"So?"

"This is extraordinary! Mimicry of a honeycomb fractal in a slime fractal demands an intelligence far superior to ours. There can only be one reasonable solution. I postulate that this slime contains coded messages of extraterrestrial beings. I intend to bring my documentation to the next SETI meeting."

Neal believed Mozzie's current fascination with slime was brought on by the lack of other brain-stimulating topics. Now that the honey business was going so well, it was no longer an intellectual challenge but a mere business matter, which simply wasn't adequate to keep his overheated brain cells engaged. Perhaps consulting on Aidan's program would do the trick. If it didn't, this could go on a while. But as Mozzie sat before him, his eyes wide with excitement, Neal didn't have the heart to puncture his balloon in one stroke. A slow release of air would be the kindest solution. "Have you considered there may be other reasons for the fractal similarity?"

"Of course, but I've discarded all the others as being impossible. In the words of Sherlock Holmes, 'When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.' "

"But if the slime was left by extraterrestrials, they would be long gone, right? Those brick-lined tunnels date back to the mid-1800s."

"But they could have assimilated into the population. They could have cloned their appearance to look like anyone, like you, like me, like bees . . . Of course!" Mozzie jumped up and shook Neal by the shoulders. "You're brilliant! They're disguising their intelligence within bees. I should have realized it. The fractal nature of honeycombs. The fractal organization to their behavior . . . there can be only one solution. The truth is out there, and thanks to you, I've found it. I must start writing up my notes for SETI. The next step will be decoding the hidden message in the slime fractal. What does it say?"

"Good question." Neal glanced at his watch. His evening class was about to start, but he couldn't leave his friend in this state. "I hope this won't keep you from planning your Valentine's Day celebration for Janet." Last month Mozzie had started dating Janet Dodson, a costume designer with a passion for entomology and a flamboyant personality.

"What? Oh, not to worry. That's well in hand." With one last longing look at the monitor display, Mozzie pulled his eyes away from fractals as he focused on the other overwhelming issue in his life.

"What are you planning?"

"The chocolate dragonflies and butterflies are being prepared right now. I ordered them from Neuhaus. I wasn't satisfied with the filling, but after the tenth tasting, I believe we're getting there."

"Can't go wrong with chocolates."

"Or flowers. Maggie's flying in special flowers for the bouquet." Maggie was Billy's daughter. She was a florist, specializing in orchids and Hawaiian tropicals which were grown in greenhouses over the store.

Neal nodding reassuringly. "Chocolate and flowers, they're bound to impress her."

"That's just the start. Then there's the catered meal. Chef Jacques of La Palette is preparing that, which reminds me I must confirm the pâté with him—I'm thinking pistachio." Mozzie got out a second notebook and scribbled a note. "Janet's been preoccupied with the new production of _The Glass Menagerie_. While she's out, I'm going to prepare her apartment. "

"Prepare?" Neal echoed warily. "What do you have in mind?"

"Nothing much. Miniature firefly lights strung throughout the apartment. Then there's the perfume—I had to prepare that myself. I couldn't believe Chanel wasn't interested in working with my blends. It's as if they'd never heard of using insect pheromones. Incredible." After heaving a sigh at the vagaries of the French perfume industry, Mozzie continued on a happier note. "Fortunately the film arrived on time. _Mating Rituals in the Insect World_." Was that a snicker?

"Perhaps you should save some of this for her birthday?"

"Birthday?" He smacked his head. "I don't know when her birthday is!"

Neal glanced at his watch. He needed to leave for his seminar, but his maneuver had born the desired result. Mozzie was now so absorbed in affairs of the heart that the looming threat of space alien sleeper cells had taken a back burner. Neal stood up to leave.

"Wait. I have something for you." Mozzie reached into a drawer and pulled out a manila folder.

Neal took the folder and opened it, grinning when he saw the contents. "I know she'll appreciate this. Thoughtful of you."

He shrugged. "The least I could do. This should be enough to get her started. Do you have time to discuss it?"

"Not tonight. This is my computational art class, and I can't miss it. You know I'm hanging on by a thread."

"That's the class on fractals." Mozzie flipped the switch to raise the steel door leading to the basement and dismissed him with a gesture worthy of an imperial potentate. "You may go. Fractals are your destiny."

 _Fractals? Really?_

* * *

 ** _Notes_** : _Thanks for reading!_ _If you'd like to see photos of the cast members and other visuals, visit The Mirror board on our Caffrey Conversation Pinterest site_ _where both Penna Nomen and I pin illustrations for our stories._ _Next week in Chapter 2: Mind Games, Neal receives a call from Paris and the spotlight is shown once more on Nazi ruins in Argentina. You'll also find out what was in Mozzie's folder._

 _Many thanks to Penna for providing outstanding beta and muse services for The Mirror. She and I share a blog called Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation __where we post about our stories and writing adventures_ _. We also have summaries for all the Caffrey Conversation stories on the blog._

 _White Collar and its characters are not mine, alas._ _Any depictions of real institutions and locations are not necessarily true or accurate._

 **Background on the Caffrey Conversation AU for new readers** : Our 'verse differs from canon in that Neal was never sent to prison and the characters are several years younger. The personalities of canon characters (Elizabeth, Mozzie, Diana, Jones, Hughes, June, and Sara) are the same. In canon, Neal's only relatives to be mentioned are his father and mother. In ours, his mother Meredith has a twin sister named Noelle who is a psychologist. Noelle met Peter's older brother Joe, an architect, in the spring of 2004 and they were wed during the Christmas holidays. Henry Winslow is Noelle's son and nearly three years older than Neal. He works at a private investigation and security company named Winston-Winslow (usually referred to as Win-Win). Neal has one other cousin, Angela, who is the daughter of Noelle and Meredith's deceased brother. Angela entered a PhD program at Columbia University in January of this year. Working with the White Collar team are two additional non-canon characters: Travis Miller, a technical expert, and Tricia Wiese, a profiler. Find photos of the entire cast on our Caffrey Conversation Pinterest site. Find more information about Caffrey Conversation on our blog.


	2. Mind Games

**Chapter 2: Mind Games**

 **Sterling-Bosch Headquarters. February 11, 2005. Friday morning.**

"Mr. Bosch will see you in a few minutes, sir."

The secretary outside R.W. Bosch's office invited Peter to take a seat in one of the burgundy-red leather chairs in the reception area. Peter pulled out a file from his briefcase to read while waiting.

On Friday morning he'd driven straight from his home to an appointment with the CEO of Sterling-Bosch. This was his first visit to the insurance giant's headquarters in the New York Life Building on Madison Avenue. The gold pyramid on top of the building glinted in the rays of the early morning sun when he pulled up. The architect reportedly had been inspired by Salisbury Cathedral for the design. The huge edifice was impressive, he'd give them that. Sterling-Bosch was one of the largest players in the global insurance business and the major insurer for most of the art museums of the world. The setting matched its importance.

Peter had met Bosch on an earlier case but couldn't have spent more than five minutes with the man. He felt fortunate that Bosch was in town and available for a meeting. The subject matter was too confidential to be handled by a phone call or written communications.

Last week the White Collar team had staged an elaborate sting at a ski resort to access the data files of a crooked real estate developer, Max Rinaldi. All went according to plan until the last moment when someone made a phone call to Rinaldi and tipped him off. That Neal and Peter hadn't wound up being killed was due more to good luck than anything else.

Thanks to the evidence discovered on the hard drive of his computer, Rinaldi was now being held for real estate fraud in addition to attempted murder. So far he'd refused to talk about who called him. Despite his protestations, his files also proved he was in bed with Ydrus, a criminal organization with ties to international terrorism.

The FBI was working on the assumption that whoever called Rinaldi was a mole for Ydrus, and the long list of suspects included not only Bureau personnel and officials at the Justice Department who'd arranged for the search warrant, but also Sterling-Bosch employees. Rinaldi was suspected of commissioning a forgery of a Corot painting which was authenticated as genuine by Sterling-Bosch. During the ensuing investigation, Sara Ellis of Sterling-Bosch had liaised with Peter's team and was in charge of researching any transactions Rinaldi might have conducted with the company. During her inquiry she undoubtedly spoke with a number of company employees, any of whom might have alerted Rinaldi.

The reception area was quiet and luxurious. Large oil paintings hung on the wood-paneled walls, and Chinese vases were displayed in lighted glass cabinets. Peter felt like he was in the lounge of an expensive hotel rather than an office building. He glanced at his watch. He'd also scheduled a briefing for the team with Tricia this morning and hoped he wouldn't have to delay it. Fortunately, Bosch had a reputation of being a man who liked to cut to the chase. The topic they had to discuss would be a true test of it.

Peter was shown in a few minutes after he arrived. Bosch was sitting behind an ornately carved walnut desk, but rose when he entered and strode across the plush oriental carpet to greet him. With his patrician white hair and expensive suit, he could have been an ambassador, but his handshake was warm and his words surprisingly cordial as he insisted that Peter call him R.W. He led Peter over to a sitting area and had his secretary serve them coffee.

Peter had relayed the bare minimum of information to make the appointment so he spent the first several minutes explaining the background of the case. When he described how their operation had been compromised, he could see the throat muscles working in Bosch's neck.

R.W. didn't mince words. "Do you believe the informant was someone in Sterling-Bosch?"

"Either here or the FBI."

He grunted assent as he put down his porcelain coffee cup on the walnut side table. "You've identified Rinaldi as working for Ydrus which leads to the inescapable conclusion that the informant is also working for Ydrus. I understand now why we needed to meet in person."

"You're familiar with Ydrus?"

"Three weeks ago I attended an ICOM conference—the International Council of Museums—in Brussels. The dramatic increase of art crimes over the past few years was the main focus and Ydrus was discussed in that connection. It was the first time I'd heard of the group."

"Did they supply you with much information?"

He shook his head. "Precious little. I attended an Interpol briefing and was told they suspect Ydrus originated in Eastern Europe but has now spread its network throughout Europe, Asia, and the Americas. It was first brought to Interpol's attention through an informant on a gun-running operation. At the time it was rumored that Ydrus was involved with art crimes, but the accounts were so questionable, Interpol didn't follow up on them."

Peter nodded. "For both Interpol and the FBI, art crimes often come up with the short stick. With Ydrus engaged in trafficking illegal weapons their involvement in art crimes is now a much higher priority."

"I assume you're conducting an investigation within the FBI. I'll meet with our own security people to begin proceedings here. Have you talked with Ms. Ellis since you returned?"

"No. Unless she was the informant, she's unaware of what happened at the ski resort, or for that matter that we were even there."

"You may have heard that she's coming to New York for an assignment. She'll be here for three weeks, working with Weatherby's." Sara had already told Peter she was going to serve as the Sterling-Bosch representative on a panel tasked with overhauling Weatherby's authentication procedure. "Having her here in New York may facilitate the inquiry in London," Bosch added.

"I assume she won't be aware of the investigation?"

"That's correct. We've already established the protocol to keep the proceedings confidential." He paused for a moment then added, "I appreciate your discretion in this. Our reputation is at stake. If there's a mole working for Ydrus among our employees, he or she could cause the destruction of our company—informing Ydrus of the valuables our clients have insured, tampering with authentication records. The damage could be devastating." Bosch's face grew increasingly grim as he reviewed the worst case scenario. Peter knew he was praying the informant was someone within the FBI.

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

When Peter returned to the Federal Building, he stopped at Neal's desk on his way to his office and asked him to accompany him upstairs. As he shrugged off his coat, Peter reviewed what had transpired during his meeting with Bosch. "You know Sara's going to be in town, right?"

Neal nodded. "Fiona's been keeping me informed. She arrives Monday." The fact that Neal's girlfriend worked at Weatherby's and was friends with Sara complicated the situation. Peter believed the odds were remote that Sara was working with Ydrus, but she would have made an ideal recruit. She was smart, young, and ambitious. In retrospect, it may have been for the best that Neal's friendship with her had never advanced to the dating stage.

"Bosch assures me that she as well as the other employees will be unaware of the investigation. If Sara contacts you, keep me informed. Until she's cleared, it would be best not to meet with her on your own."

Looking frustrated, Neal shook his head. "I can't believe Sara would have betrayed us."

"Don't let your personal feelings enter into this," Peter warned. "A little extra caution is prudent in this case, and we need to be careful not to interfere with Sterling-Bosch's internal investigation."

A knock on his door interrupted them. It was Jones alerting them that Tricia had arrived and they could begin the meeting.

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

The discussion on strategies for dealing with Azathoth proved to be as lively as Peter had expected. He started it off with reviewing the incident in Prague. Travis then brought Tricia up-to-date on the anti-malware program Aidan was developing. Travis also suggested that Aidan be consulted about Marta and Jacek Kolar. They were a pair of Czech tech experts employed by Klaus Mansfeld who'd used Azathoth's malware to hack the Met's security system.

"When the Czech authorities investigated them, they believed that they didn't possess the necessary skill to develop the malware," Travis said, "but the Czech Republic has developed quite a reputation for excellent programmers. The field of cybersecurity tends to be a close-knit group. They may not have been as cooperative with the police as they would be with someone like Aidan. Since his company has worked on international contracts, Aidan may be able to use his connections to learn more about the Kolars."

"Go ahead and approach Aidan about it," Peter agreed, "but remember not to mention anything to him about Mansfeld. Simply refer to the Kolars as persons of interest in connection with Azathoth."

Travis nodded agreement. Peter was sure he didn't need reminding but it didn't hurt to refresh all the team members about the need for confidentiality. Neal's undercover involvement in the operation against Mansfeld was unknown to all but a few at the FBI and Interpol.

Jones and Diana then reviewed their activities with the Lovecraft fandom for the others. Jones had been writing an online blog which continued to amass a large following. Diana had taken it upon herself to write fanfiction. The strategies had already been endorsed by Tricia. Given Azathoth's inflated ego, they were hoping to provoke a reaction which would eventually lead to his unmasking.

"Diana and I met earlier this week to discuss her stories," Tricia said. She turned to face Diana. "Did you go ahead and post on Thursday?"

Diana nodded. "My first chapter is now published. The protagonists are Neal Carter and Peter Gilman. Neal's character is derived from Randolph Carter, who is Lovecraft's main hero and semi-autobiographical. He went to Miskatonic University, is bookish and introverted—a melancholy dreamer. In my stories Neal's an assistant professor of linguistics."

"What about Peter?" Jones asked.

"He's a professor of archaeology. Miskatonic University is a creation of Lovecraft's, set in the fictional town of Arkham, Massachusetts. Lovecraft wrote in the 1920s and 1930s, but I've set my stories in 1975."

"There are a couple of reasons Diana's cast you both as academics," Tricia added. "Many of Lovecraft's characters taught at Miskatonic, but the primary reason is that Azathoth appears to be fascinated by abstruse and arcane lore. Those medieval armillaries, for instance, which he based his puzzle on and challenged you to solve in the fall, make me suspicious that he comes from an academic background."

"Why did you pick that year?" Travis asked Diana.

"Author's privilege. That was the year I was born. Also I have an aunt who graduated from college in the '70s so I can use her as a reference. I'm having a hard enough time writing stories about a period without cell phones or laptops. That's about as far back as I can take it. And, in case you're wondering, I also have a role in the stories. You're looking at Detective Diana Briscoe of the Arkham Police Force. She's a no-nonsense Sam Spade type, fast with her gun and her wits." When Jones started to protest, she added, "Don't worry, you're in it too."

"You're using our first names," Peter noted. "What's the reasoning behind that?"

"That was at my suggestion," Tricia replied. "We know that Azathoth stalked you and Neal. He or she could easily have obtained the names of all of us. For privacy purposes, obviously, Diana's not using your full names. But the primary objective of the stories is to create a Lima effect, or reverse Stockholm as it's sometimes known. We want to make Azathoth sympathize with you so he won't wish to harm you. It's possible, that's already the case, but we want to reinforce it."

Peter rolled his eyes at her statement. "He has a funny way of showing it."

But Tricia persevered. "He hasn't injured you. He may consider you too valuable, too good of competitors, or there may be some other factor in play. That house of horror where he held you prisoner? He could have easily killed you, but he didn't. He gave you a chance, even if a slim one, to emerge victorious. We want to build on that and magnify it to make him less likely to inflict harm. This is especially important in view of what happened in Prague."

"How is Hughes reacting to this, Peter?" Jones asked.

"Since it's taking up so few resources, he's going along . . . while desperately hoping he doesn't have to justify it at the annual review before something concrete has come out of it." Peter turned to face Neal. "All right, you said you had a new proposal. You have the floor."

"Before moving on, I have something to give to Diana, which I know she'll find helpful." He handed her a folder which had been under his notepad.

Diana quickly scanned it and let out a moan. "You've gotta be kidding."

Neal shook his head, controlling his laughter.

"What is it?" Tricia asked.

Diana pulled out a sheaf of paper. "Ten pages, printed on both sides, of character suggestions from Mozzie." She glared at Neal as if he'd instigated it.

Neal shrugged. "I told him about Diana's project and he believed she needed guidance in designing his character."

Diana was scanning the pages, her jaw dropping as she read it. "Astrophysicist? The intellect of Einstein? Seriously? I was going to make him a janitor."

Tricia raised a cautionary hand. "From what Neal's told me, Mozzie's a master at understanding someone's—or something's—mindset. You should study his recommendations, and I will too." She turned to Neal. "Now what's the idea you wanted to propose?"

"Actually, Travis deserves the credit for it," Neal said.

"But it was inspired by you," Travis quickly interjected. "You should go ahead and explain it."

Peter raised a brow. "Should we be concerned that neither one of you wants to claim ownership?"

Neal shrugged. "You may wish to reserve judgment." He turned to Tricia. "Have you heard of Tac-Con?"

"The sci-fi convention at the end of the month? Sure, my kids' science club has already planned to take a field trip there."

"There are several competitions held in connection with the convention. Aidan plans to enter a video that some of us have been helping on. Another friend's entering the sculpture competition. I signed up for the painting contest and plan to submit two paintings based on ones I'd done of the kidnapping. So many aspects of that house seem taken out of a movie or video game, we thought there's a chance someone from the industry would recognize them and provide a clue to Azathoth's identity. Tac-Con attracts not only fans but many industry insiders."

"I remember those paintings well," she said. "Which ones are you entering?"

"The seascape—that was the image Azathoth had projected onto our cell wall. It depicts a multi-limbed monster emerging from a turbulent ocean of chaotic colors and amorphous shapes. I'm also recreating the scene where I was being attacked by tentacle-face."

"You know that seascape you did has some similarities to what happened in Prague," Jones commented. "We've speculated about Azathoth having a connection to the film or special effects industry. What would he do if he happened to be at the convention and saw your paintings?"

"I'd like to find out," Neal replied. "Azathoth thrives on taunting us. We should do the same."

"The odds are stacked against you," Tricia commented. "It seems quite a stretch that anyone would connect your paintings with actionable intel on Azathoth, let alone that Azathoth himself would be there."

"You're right," he replied, "but I was planning to go anyway so it seemed worth a shot."

"This is another one of your throw-a-deck-of-cards-into-the-air-and-see-where-they-fall schemes, isn't it?" Peter asked.

"But I don't see any harm," Tricia countered. She looked pointedly over at Peter. "And since he hasn't mentioned costumes. I say go for it."

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

At the conclusion of the briefing, Tricia stayed to talk with Peter and Neal. "If you're free, Mitch said he'd have time to meet with us at his office at NYU this afternoon."

Tricia's husband Mitch had just returned from Buenos Aires where he'd announced the discovery of a Nazi hideout deep in the northern jungles of Argentina. Neal had met Tricia's husband Mitch only once—when she'd brought her family to a birthday luncheon Neal's cousin Henry had thrown for him last spring. A professor of anthropology at NYU, Mitch had spent the past several weeks conducting research on the Toba tribe in Paraguay. The village was just across the border with Argentina and Mitch had chanced upon the ruins during his research project. Neal suspected the discovery of a World War II hideout had rocked Mitch's world as much as it had Mozzie's.

When the news broke, Mozzie dusted off his Nazi clone theories and linked them to Vincent Adler, who was believed to have sought refuge in Argentina. Although Jones was no fan of Nazi clones, he too was tantalized by the possibility that the Nazi hideout would cause Adler to emerge from the jungle. Jones had developed a theory that Adler was seeking to track down a sunken U-boat filled with Nazi-looted treasure.

Neal was not a proponent of either theory. Much more startling to him was the revelation that Mitch spotted Henry attending the news conference.

Henry had told Neal he was traveling in South America to negotiate beta test sites with regional airports for the facial recognition software his company was developing. He'd also mentioned doing volunteer work for a nonprofit education through music initiative. But at no time had he said anything about Argentina. Henry had never shown any interest in Nazis, real or clones. The only reason which made sense was that Henry hoped to find evidence of Adler's whereabouts.

After Henry was spotted at the news conference, Peter told Neal that Henry had made a few inquiries about Fowler in late November in the aftermath of Fowler's attempt to frame Neal. Henry claimed that he'd dropped the case and asked Peter not to tell Neal, and he'd agreed as long as Henry stuck to his promise not to pursue the case.

Right. Drop something so quickly? Not the Henry Neal knew.

Although the FBI had traced Fowler to Argentina and believed him to be working for Adler, no one knew if Henry had also established the link. No one knew until last week, that is. Once Henry was photographed at the press conference, Peter and Tricia brought Neal into the loop.

Neal didn't hold it against Peter that he had withheld the information. He was put in a difficult position, and, honestly, if Neal had known, there wasn't much he could have done. He could have tried to get Henry to tell him what he was up to. But he knew in advance Henry would have shut him out, too. Besides, Neal couldn't drop everything on a hunch that Henry might be up to something and run off to Argentina.

But now Neal had a long list of questions. Had anything been found at the site about a U-boat? Was there any evidence of Adler? Did Mitch have any news about Henry? All of Neal's attempts to contact Henry had failed. He hoped Mitch would have some answers.

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

NYU was located in Lower Manhattan. It didn't have a quad like Columbia. Instead, Washington Square Park in the heart of Greenwich Village served as the unofficial center of the main campus with university buildings scattered throughout the Village. Rufus Smith Hall which housed NYU's anthropology department was just off the square.

Mitch was working at his desk when they walked in. He rose with a smile and a ready handshake to greet them. He made an interesting contrast with his wife. Tricia was the picture of poise in her trademark pantsuits, seemingly cool and unflappable no matter what was thrown her way. Mitch on the other hand, with his rumpled tweed jacket, no tie, and corduroy pants was the quintessential scruffy academic. From the photos Neal had seen of him, he didn't bother shaving at all in the field. Now he had what appeared to be a three-day growth. His unruly dark hair fell in front of his eyes making him appear not very much older than the students he taught. He had a boyish grin which Neal could relate to. Tricia must sometimes feel like she had three kids, not two.

As they took seats around his desk, Neal's eyes wandered around his office. Tribal masks hung on the walls. Books were crammed into the bookshelves. A few spears were propped up in a corner. A brief image leaped into his head of Mitch smearing paint on his and his sons' faces and taking them out trick-or-treating.

Neal wasn't the only one studying faces. Mitch was also scanning his. "For a moment when I first saw Henry at the news conference, I thought it was you," he explained. "But of course your bone structure is quite different. The bigonial breadths of your mandibles are similar, though."

Tricia chuckled. "You'll get used to this. You should see him carving a turkey. He gives us a lecture on the life of the bird based on its bone structure before we're allowed to eat."

"We hope to put that expertise to good use," Peter said. "I appreciate you meeting with us so quickly. You must be getting flooded with interview requests."

Mitch acknowledged the truth of his words with a wry smile, "This morning I was courted by _Good Morning America_. My department is overjoyed at the publicity, but frankly I'd much rather it go away."

"Have you reached many conclusions about the site?" Neal asked.

"It was apparently constructed during the early years of the war, perhaps to be a refuge in case of defeat," he replied. "Altogether there were three buildings plus a stone quarry. We've identified German coins minted between 1938 and 1941. This is not my area, but I talked with a historian who said there had been a secret project to build refuges in many remote locations such as this. It may not ever have been inhabited. Since the Argentinian president welcomed Nazis to the country in the aftermath of the war, there was no need to hide in the jungle."

"Did you find any evidence of recent visits?" Peter asked. "We're trying to figure out why Henry was there. Was it simply idle curiosity or did he suspect something else?"

"There was a significant amount of trash leftover from visitors. The ruins are close to a Jesuit settlement which dates back to the seventeenth century and is a popular tourist destination. No doubt tourists have wandered around the ruins for decades, not knowing what they were. It's impossible to know what they may have carted off with them. Although the site is now being guarded, it may be too late to find anything valuable. A team of Argentinian archaeologists is in charge of the excavation."

"The crowd at the press conference was impressive," Tricia noted. "We can't rule out the possibility that Henry was there out of simple curiosity."

"I've never had so many journalists attend any of my events before," Mitch acknowledged. "The briefing had been announced in local news reports. If Henry were in town, he could have easily heard about it. Nothing like mentioning Nazis to bring out the sensationalists. Personally I find my research on the Toba tribe to be much more compelling, but that's another story. I wasn't originally scheduled to conduct the briefing, but the head of the Argentinian team had a family emergency and asked me to step in."

"When did you see Henry?" Neal asked.

"I spotted him in the back of the room when I first stepped onto the podium. As I explained earlier, I tried to find him at the end of the conference, but he must have already left."

"What can you tell us about the objects that have been discovered?" Peter asked.

"It will take a long time to process all the refuse at the site. When I last talked with the team, they'd collected over two thousand items." Mitch reached into a drawer and pulled out a stack of photos which he spread on the desk. "These are of the objects that have been separated out so far. Mainly tourist trash, but you may find something helpful. The buildings were covered in thick vines. You have to remember they're in the midst of the jungle, and the jungle had reclaimed them. It's going to take a long time to thoroughly excavate the site."

For the next several minutes they studied the photos. Each item had been labeled with a tag giving its identification number. Mitch was right. There was a depressing amount of refuse to sort through. Soda cans, some old photography film canisters. . . .

Peter looked over at Neal. "Finding anything useful?"

Neal shook his head as Tricia made arrangements with Mitch to have digital copies of the photos sent to the Bureau. Neal was about to return the photos to Mitch when something caught his eye. Was that…? It was white glossy paper. The writing looked to be the correct color. Looking up at Mitch, he asked, "Do you have a magnifying glass I could use?"

Mitch nodded and reached into his top drawer for one. Peter had gotten up and was peering at the photo over his shoulder. "What do you see?"

Neal pointed at the white object on the photo. "This." Looking at it through the magnifying glass, he confirmed his suspicions. "It's a candy wrapper. Not the typical candy of a tourist, it's from a Ferrero Raffaello praline."

"I'm not familiar with that," Tricia said.

"It's an Italian candy—an almond and coconut confection. Adler was addicted to it. Used to carry one in his pocket for a quick fix."

They left shortly afterward with Mitch promising to keep them notified of any additional discoveries. On the drive back to the Bureau, they speculated about Adler's possible presence at the ruins.

Peter said, "There've been rumors about hidden hideouts in the jungle going back as far as—"

"Nazi clones?" Neal finished for him.

Tricia chuckled. "Never in my wildest dreams did I think I'd be investigating Nazi clones."

"And you still aren't," Peter insisted.

"But if Adler were there, he may have found something and carried it off," Neal pointed out. "Not a blueprint for creating clones, but perhaps something even more valuable. If Jones's theory of a sunken U-boat is correct, he may have found a clue to its location." Neal was looking forward more than ever to that talk with Henry. Perhaps he could shed a light on what was going on.

The last time Neal spoke with him had been several weeks ago when Henry alerted him he'd be out of touch while traveling in South America. Neal could play the snarky kid brother and give Henry a hard time over keeping him in the dark, but he'd satisfy himself with only a small amount of teasing. It was hard to give him too much grief for something he probably would have done himself if he'd been Henry. They both operated on the same principle. The best way to protect someone was to keep them out of the loop and unaware. That's exactly how Neal was handling the situation with Azathoth.

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

June was out when Neal returned home that evening, so he headed straight upstairs, stopping to pick up his mail which the housekeeper had placed on a side table next to the entrance to the loft. He flipped through the items before placing the stack on the dining table. Usual assortment of junk mail and bills. One piece caught his eye. The envelope was the size of a greeting card. His address was typed but there was no stamp and no postmark.

Neal hung up his coat and sat down at the table to open it. Inside was a postcard of a luxury hotel in the style of the Belle Epoque. Its ornate facade gleamed against the backdrop of an azure sky on a broad, tree-lined boulevard. The Carlton Cannes. Neal turned the postcard over. No message. Why would anyone send him that?

Neal puzzled over the card throughout dinner. He'd stayed there a few times in what he called his Europe years—the time he spent with Klaus Mansfeld when he was determined to become a renaissance criminal. He still remembered the high he'd gotten from pulling off a jewel heist at such a famous location. _To Catch a Thief_ had been filmed there. He remembered how he and Klaus used to joke about it and point out all the ways the movie could have been improved.

He'd also done a job there with Keller, the first thief he'd hooked up with after he'd fled overseas. Neal called that his period of insanity. Why else would he have worked with someone like Keller? Even after he joined Klaus's crew, he still kept up his connections with the guy. It took over a year before he recognized Keller's true nature. In the early days Keller had been fun and exhilarating. It hadn't been that many years ago, but it seemed like a lifetime now.

Putting aside the postcard for now, Neal tried calling Henry again. Still no answer. He pulled out his textbook on computational art and prepared to bore himself. He'd just sprawled on the couch when his phone finally rang. He grabbed it, only to see it wasn't Henry who was calling.

"Chantal?"

" _Allo_ , Neal. You remembered my number?" Chantal's voice sounded like _crème au chocolat_ over the phone. Speaking French with her was as natural as breathing.

The last time they'd spoken had been a couple of days after Klaus died. Chantal was his ex-wife. In 2001 when Neal had joined Klaus and Chantal in Geneva as their protégé, Klaus had given him a doctorate in art forgery and cat burglary skills while Chantal had been his instructor in safecracking and cooking. He'd absorbed everything he could from both of them. She divorced Klaus not long after Neal left.

"You're up early. It's not even dawn in Paris."

"I'll leave for the _marché soon and wanted to speak with you first_." When she retired from safecracking, Chantal had purchased a bistro on a small side street on the Left Bank across the Seine from Notre-Dame Cathedral.

They exchanged news for a few minutes before Chantal broached the reason for her call. "Yesterday a fence came to me asking about _Violin and Candlestick_. He said he'd been approached by a buyer's agent who is offering a fabulous sum of money for it. I thought you should know."

Neal drew a deep breath. He hadn't thought about that painting in years. "Did he think you had it?"

"He was casting his net. He'd heard Klaus had stolen it and thought I might have it now. The sum of money he's offering is a king's ransom. Fifteen million euros. The fence is a personal acquaintance of mine and I can vouch for his integrity. You would be set for life, Neal. What would you like me to tell him?"

"I don't have the painting, Chantal."

"But you know where it is, don't you? This would be a good time to rescue it. You'd have the money. You'd be clear of the painting."

Had Klaus left it where they stashed it? They'd stolen that painting two years before the disaster at the Nationalgalerie in Berlin. Neal had assumed Klaus sold it. But what if it were still there? His first chance to go look for it would be in the summer.

After Chantal hung up, he continued to weigh the options. Painted by Georges Braque in 1910, the painting was one of the defining works of Analytic Cubism. Supposing he could retrieve the painting, what should he do with it? The offer would probably no longer be valid. In any case, shouldn't it be turned over to the authorities? Still, fifteen million, that wasn't chump change.

If he returned the painting, he'd no doubt be arrested for having stolen it in the first place. Neal ran a hand through his hair and got up to refill his wine. It might be safer simply to sneak in and sell the painting. Or do nothing. But the thought of that painting languishing where it was, lost to the world, was going to haunt him …

When his phone rang, it was an unwanted distraction till he remembered who he was waiting for.

" _Hola, mi amigo_!"

Henry the linguist. Neal grinned as he wrapped his head around the thought. "Welcome back! Should we continue in Spanish?"

"Nah. I never got much farther than the _Hola_ part."

"How was Ecuador?"

"Working with those kids in the villages was awesome. I may have found my calling. I got out my guitar and they used homemade instruments, often ones their parents had made. We talked with each other through our music." Henry had claimed that he was traveling to Ecuador on a combination of business and wanting to work with the Global Education through Music Initiative, a UNESCO nonprofit. From the sound of it, at least that part hadn't been a con. Neal could imagine how the village kids would have looked up to Henry as a Pied Piper and how he would have basked in their adulation.

Once Neal learned that Henry had Fowler and Adler on his radar, he'd checked out the nonprofit to make sure it was legit and was relieved at what he found. He didn't think Henry would have simply invented it.

Henry was continuing to describe his adventures in the village. He wanted to get their cousin Angela involved in the nonprofit for her summer field work project. All well and good, and all of it could be a well-organized smokescreen. It was time to blow the smoke away.

"Where else did you go besides Ecuador?"

"Santiago, Chile. They're going to test out our beta software at their airport." Ah yes, the facial recognition project. The primary reason for the trip. Henry was on the team to test the new software for airport security. It was all so convenient.

"Did Buenos Aires sign up for the beta project too?"

Henry chuckled. "When I saw your message, I suspected that was what this was about. Was I photographed?"

"Yep. Mozzie found the photo. When the news broke about the hideout, he immediately seized upon it as proof that his Nazi clone theory was accurate. I didn't know you ascribed to the same theory."

"Oh yeah—Nazi clones rock."

"Isn't it time you tell me what really is going on?" Henry wasn't quite ready to take the leap so Neal gave him the final push. "You're on the hunt for Adler aren't you? You know Fowler's with him."

"Peter told you?"

"Yeah, but only after you were seen at the news conference. We talked with Mitch this afternoon. So what did you find out?"

"I was in Buenos Aires. Heard about the conference. I wondered if Adler would be brazen enough to attend or send Kate or Fowler."

"Was he?"

"Life's not that simple, kiddo."

"Do you think you have any chance of convincing Win-Win to take on the case?"

"Possibly. I have some ideas on how to approach them."

"Peter wants to talk about partnering with Win-Win on this. It's tricky because it's an overseas operation, but given the scale of the fraud in the Ponzi scheme, he thinks he can convince the Bureau to invest some resources." As Neal went over the details, it was plain he'd caught Henry's attention and the thought intrigued him. "But there's a major stipulation before any agreement."

"I know where you're heading."

"That's right. No obscuring tactics. No blowing sand in our faces to cover your agenda. No mind games. No going lone wolf on us. Think you can restrain yourself?"

Henry heaved a melodramatic sigh. "You're taking away my fun, you recognize."

"Yeah, life sucks sometimes. It may help you to know that I call the team my wolf pack, just not to their faces."

Henry gave a low chuckle. "The wolf pack, I like that. It's easing the pain already."

"Good. It's helped me play within rules that sometimes seem arbitrary and capricious. You'll have to do the same."

"Tell you what, we'll help each other through this. When you get frustrated you come to me and I promise I'll do the same with you. Deal?"

Neal smiled. "Deal. We can howl at the moon together."

Henry promised to bring it up with Allen Winston, the head of Win-Win, when he returned to work on Monday. He requested a few days to try to work out an arrangement and then they could discuss it in a conference call. By the end of the week Henry could be on board to help take down Adler and Fowler.

* * *

 ** _Notes_** _: What do you think? Will Henry be able to resist going lone wolf? Does Neal play within the rules as much as he thinks he does? Coming events will put this new strategy to the test but in the meantime it's almost Valentine's Day. Neal and his friends will celebrate Valentine's Day next week in Chapter 3: An Unexpected Valentine when, alas, not all the valentines received will be happy ones._

 _The Mirror board on our Caffrey Conversation Pinterest site has pins of Mitch, Chantal, the Braque painting, the Carlton Cannes, and several wolves which managed to sneak in too. If you'd like to read more about the painting and why I selected it, I've written about it in our blog. Penna and I have also posted on how we got into fan fiction, just in time for International Fanworks Day._

 _Thanks for reading and your comments! Thanks to Penna for awesome beta services and helping me keep our two lone wolves from wandering too far off into the wild._

 ** _Blog_** _: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation_ _  
_ _ **Chapter Visuals and Music**_ _: The Mirror board on the Caffrey Conversation Pinterest website_


	3. An Unexpected Valentine

**Chapter 3: An Unexpected Valentine**

 **February 12, 2005. Saturday morning.**

Early on Saturday morning Neal set off for his art studio at Columbia. Nazi hideouts, Adler, the Dutchman, and Azathoth could all be safely set aside for the weekend. He wasn't even going to spend much time thinking about the Braque painting that Chantal called about. At the moment his art was much more of a concern. He not only had the upcoming exhibition for first-year grad students to prepare for but the competition at Tac-Con as well.

When he arrived, he spotted Richard in the adjacent studio modeling a head in clay. When Richard saw him, he called him in. "What do you think?" he asked, wiping his hands on a rag.

Neal studied the bust. It was of an African-American man, perhaps in his fifties. His lined face hinted of past struggles but his eyes were full of intelligence and humor. "It's a remarkable portrait. It makes me want to hear his life story. Who is he?"

"Lionel Ferbos. He's a jazz musician." Richard stepped back from the sculpture to stand beside Neal. "Stockman liked the creature sculptures I'm making for Tac-Con so well, I thought I'd try this on her. She despises my mobiles—calls them erector sets."

Richard had spent the entire first term working on kinetic abstract mobiles. Professor Stockman had been less than enthusiastic, but he was painting a far bleaker picture than she ever had. "Don't psych yourself out," Neal warned. "I was there for the group critiques and she didn't hate them."

"Dislikes profoundly?" Richard shrugged. "This is getting to my roots."

Richard was from New Orleans and a skilled jazz guitarist. He was marrying several elements of his personal story in his art. Neal predicted Stockman would be enthusiastic. "There's an expressiveness—a humanity—about your sculptures. Maybe that's not a compliment if you're an extraterrestrial, but it's what makes them so compelling. Have you finished your space creature sculptures?"

"Just about. I enjoyed sculpting them so much, I've been sketching ideas for several others. By the time I'm done, I may have enough to make my own intergalactic zoo."

"You should consider that for the exhibition. I don't think that's ever been done before."

He chuckled. "Should I ask Stockman then duck? You know when I started at Columbia, I never thought that I'd wind up being so involved in science fiction, and I don't think it's simply because of Travis. It's more like he awakened a fascination that I had as a kid and has lain dormant for many years. I'm starting to think of a career as a concept artist more and more. That SFX course he suggested I take is having a profound influence."

"I heard that most of the biggest names in visual effects are going to be at Tac-Con. Are you going to check out job opportunities?"

He nodded. "I've already been researching possibilities. One of the most intimidating hurdles is the intense competition. Openings are scarce. The companies won't even talk to you if you don't have experience. That's why this competition means so much. The first prize for the sculpture competition is an intern position at Scima Gameworks."

Richard said Scima in a hushed voice, but Neal had never heard of them. "Who's Scima?"

Richard looked at him with disbelief. "Obviously you haven't been spending hours poring over sci-fi movies like I have. Scima Workshop is responsible for the special effects for some of the biggest films over the past decade. They're headquartered in London but have several other branches. Scima Gameworks is responsible for video gaming. Their studio's in SoHo in Lower Manhattan. That's such a dream job, it gives me chills simply thinking about it. I could quit my life as an investment analyst—I'm not that good at it anyway. Work on my art by day, play jazz at night, and live in the Village."

"Hmm. Travis lives in the Village. Any chance this dream future involves him?" Not that he didn't already know the answer.

Richard grinned. "We're thinking about it." He hesitated. "The lease on my apartment expires at the end of the month, and Travis has asked me to move in. It's just a trial but then we'll know for sure. We both feel like we're ready even though we haven't known each other for long. It just feels right, you know?"

It was hard not to compare Richard's happiness to what Neal had with Fiona. They were in a relationship, yes, but they were also treading carefully. Instinctively he knew she wasn't ready for that level of commitment, and he knew he wasn't either. "Travis mentioned you'd stocked up on honey wine for Valentine's Day. Are you cooking?"

"No, Travis is."

"Seriously? I didn't know he cooked. Is there a _Star Trek_ cookbook?"

"Actually there is. I fear I may get my first taste of Plomeek soup. I told him I'd happily make gumbo instead, but he insisted. The sacrifices I make."

After a few minutes of discussing the finer points of Vulcan cuisine, Neal headed to his own studio and was able to get in a solid two hours of painting before it was time to meet about the video.

Mozzie had come up with the idea to make an animated short film about the yellow-faced bee. He'd embraced the cause of the Hawaiian endangered species in his initial enthusiasm for Hawaiian honey. Aidan was looking for a subject for a video he needed to make for an animation course. Theirs was a marriage made in honey heaven.

Aidan was allowed to recruit helpers so it became a joint project with Richard and Neal. Aidan was in charge of the animation, Richard designed the characters, Neal prepared the backgrounds, and as for the script—who else but Mozzie. After years of lecturing Neal on the importance of living the life of inanimate objects where he'd spin tales about a file, a piece of jewelry, or a book, Mozzie was now crafting adventures for the yellow-faced bee, and it came as no surprise that he excelled at it. The video was a superhero cartoon starring Yellowface, the Masked Avenger. Richard made him look like a punk rock star who handled his stinger with the ferocity of a world-class fencer.

The adventure was set in Hawaii and the villains were the evil destroyers of his habitat. Yellowface and his band of fellow bees were patterned after the musketeers protecting the queen bee. Richard and Fiona had written the music which was performed by their band. Yellowface was voiced by Neal, and the part of the imperious queen had been voiced by his cousin Angela. The fact that Angela had roped in Michael to voice the part of a young amorous bee who spent his entire time hovering around the queen was not lost on Neal or any of the other band members.

The meeting was being held at Aidan's studio, north of the main campus in Prentis Hall. As Neal and Richard walked up Broadway, they discussed the makeups Richard was designing for the convention. Mozzie originally wasn't going to attend Tac-Con, but when Travis suggested he go as Quark, he couldn't resist. Richard had agreed to make the prosthetics. Janet was going to accompany Mozzie as a Dabo girl. Neal, Richard, and Aidan weren't wearing costumes since they were participating in competitions.

"How are Travis's ears coming?" Neal asked.

"He's a tough client," Richard admitted. "I must have made ten pairs before he was finally satisfied. Janet's meeting with him now to go over the specifics of his uniform. He had an old uniform he was going to wear, but Janet insisted on providing him with new threads."

"She and Mozzie are thrilled with the makeups you designed. I'm sure she wanted to show her appreciation."

When they arrived at the studio, Aidan and Mozzie were already there. Aidan had made a giant wall calendar for the month showing all that needed to be accomplished. It was a daunting challenge.

"If we weren't trying to exhibit it at Tac-Con, I'd have months more to work on this," Aidan said, contemplating the calendar gloomily. "The video's not due till the first of May. I must have been mad to think I could have this ready by the end of February."

Mozzie the Scriptwriter was dismissive of his concerns. "My story is gripping—full of danger, thrills, and romance. No matter what the art looks like, you'll be a winner."

Aidan started off the meeting with a run-through of the video. To Neal's eye there wasn't much left to be done, but Aidan felt otherwise, pointing out issues with almost every frame and growing increasingly frantic at the mountain of revisions. His stress was rubbing off on everyone there.

"Do you want to back out of the competition?" Neal finally asked in frustration.

"No way!" Aidan said, looking horrified. "Did you hear the prizes they're talking about? There's even a chance it could be picked to be shown at Comic-Con in San Diego this summer. I'm not giving up on that prize."

The next several hours were spent working on the video with Mozzie making changes to the script on the fly as they worked. Several minor characters were voiced by Aidan, who manipulated his voice electronically to sound anything from menacing to playful.

"You know your technique has interesting possibilities," Mozzie said, with a speculative expression that Neal knew well. "We should talk later."

"Happy to," Aidan said. "I'd also like to discuss the anti-malware I'm developing. We may be able to negotiate an exchange of consulting services, beneficial to both." They agreed to meet on Tuesday evening with Travis over dinner at the Flying Saucer Pizza Company. Afterward Travis and Mozzie would attend the SETI meeting.

It was close to five o'clock by the time they called it quits. Neal and Mozzie walked together to the closest tunnel entrance on the northern boundary of the main Columbia campus. Neal took advantage of the walk to tell him about the postcard he'd received.

"Odd. Completely unsigned you say?"

"I even looked for invisible ink. Couldn't find anything. Would you mind checking it out?" Neal passed him the card and envelope which he'd placed in protective sleeves.

Mozzie studied them before secreting them in his jacket. "What's the significance of the hotel?"

"The Carlton Cannes has been the location of several spectacular jewelry heists. The thought occurred to me that Gordon Taylor might have sent it."

Mozzie considered his suggestion and shook his head. "Not his style. If Gordon wanted to recruit you for a job, he'd approach me about it. But you did a couple of jobs in Cannes, didn't you?"

Neal nodded. "With Klaus and with Keller."

"That time with Keller . . . Was that when you wound up on the balcony overlooking the Boulevard de la Croisette wearing nothing but a gold tray to cover your—?"

"That's the one," Neal broke in with a chuckle, "but I don't imagine it was the princess who sent me this."

Mozzie turned his head to peer at Neal over his glasses. "You know, with Klaus dead, it could only be Keller."

"Yeah, I was hoping for some other meaning, but that's only wishful thinking."

"With no postmark on the envelope, he's making it look like he's in town, but he could have easily called a local to deliver it. He could simply be trying to rattle you." No need to reply. Mozzie was echoing Neal's own opinion.

They walked on in silence a few minutes before Mozzie asked, "What are you going to do about it?"

"Wait for the next message. Nothing much else I can do."

"When was the last time you saw him?"

"In 2003 during the heyday with Adler."

"Oh, yeah. That was when Keller and Kate . . ."

"Exactly." Neal didn't feel like reliving that time. Not now, not ever.

"So, you're all set for tonight?"

"What?"

"Neal, tonight. When's Fiona coming over?"

"At seven. I'm making Chantal's recipe for coquilles Saint Jacques."

"Enjoy your evening. Keller's just messing with your head. You know how he likes to play mind games. Maybe he's bored—misses your chess games."

Neal attempted to lighten the mood himself. "You're right. It's probably nothing. Next thing I know, he'll be sending me a chess move."

 **Neal's loft. February 13, 2005. Sunday morning.**

"More champagne?" Neal asked.

Not waiting for an answer, he picked up Fiona's champagne glass and rose from the dining table. They were enjoying a leisurely breakfast on a Sunday morning. The azure blue sky outside reflected his own mood. They were still in their robes. Fiona's blond hair, tousled from the night, looked like spun gold against her peach silk kimono.

"What's in the champagne?" Fiona asked. "That raspberry flavor is elegant."

"It's called a Kir Imperial—I added a dash of Chambord liqueur."

"It's wonderful, and the color is exquisite. Trust an artist to make such an aesthetically pleasing cocktail." She stretched her arms out behind her back. "This was a fantastic idea to celebrate Valentine's Day on the weekend. I feel very pampered right now."

"That was my intention," Neal said, smiling. "It's gratifying to hear I succeeded." Returning with the cocktails, he clinked glasses with her. "What should we plan for next weekend?"

"How about the new exhibit at the Met— _Love Letters from a Pharaoh_? Do you think the crowds will have died down enough that we can get in?"

"We could try for next Saturday." The exhibit was centered around a gold and silver mirror which had recently been discovered by a team of archaeologists in the Valley of the Kings in Egypt. Based on its inscription, they believed it had been given by Tutankhamun to his queen, Ankhesenamun. A love poem was inscribed on the back of the mirror. The spectacular find caused a renewed furor of interest in the boy king and his young wife. Since it was discovered by Egyptologists associated with the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the Met was privileged to be the site of an exhibition of the mirror. Also on display were several other objects belonging to King Tut, including a small golden shrine and jewelry. The shrine, an exceptional treasure in its own right, was called a love letter in gold from the pharaoh to his queen because of the informal scenes of the couple depicted in raised relief on its sides.

"Let's pencil it in. Weatherby's has an auction scheduled for that afternoon, but I don't think I'll have to work that day." Fiona's hours at Weatherby's were almost as demanding as Neal's at the FBI. He'd lost track of how many times over the past few months they'd had to reschedule a date. "Sara's arriving today. She'll be in town for the next few weeks, as well as Weatherby's top brass from London and Paris."

Sara was representing Sterling-Bosch on the advisory panel Weatherby's had set up to review its authentication procedures. Her company suffered a major embarrassment when its authenticator failed to detect the Corot forgery. Fiona had become acquainted with Sara last fall and the two had become friends. Neal found it somewhat ironic that Fiona now saw Sara much more frequently than he did.

Fiona sliced into her eggs Benedict. "We should go out some evening the three of us, but it will probably be very last minute. My schedule's going to be insane. I hope I'll still be able to attend my classes. What's your schedule like? Any undercover missions I should worry about?"

"Paper cuts are the only thing to fear for the next several weeks . . . unless something comes up to relieve the tedium of office routine."

"Good. You need a chance to let your ribs recover." She eyed him with concern. "Those bruises look horrific. You say they're not that painful, but I can't believe it."

"They didn't interfere with last night, did they?" The kaleidoscope of bruises on his chest from last week's misadventure on Lynx Mountain had faded to a marbled purple and green as if he'd been caught by a Mardi Gras paint gun. No wonder Fiona was dismayed when she saw them.

She shook her head. "No, it's not that, but it makes me uneasy about what goes on during those supposedly non-dangerous white collar stings you're on."

He squeezed her hand. "It's all part of the job."

"Are you being careful?"

"Of course. Cautious Caffrey is what they call me at work. What happened last week was not at all typical. We caught the bad guy and that's what matters. Now, tell me more about Paris."

"Switching the subject on me? You really are incorrigible." She looked at him and sighed. "As for Paris, like I mentioned last night, Weatherby's wants to implement in its Paris office the procedures we developed in New York for conducting auctions. The scuttlebutt is that they're going to select two or three people from our office to work on the transition."

"You're hoping you're picked, aren't you?"

"Of course! How often does the chance to work in Paris come along?"

"Will you have to put your master's work on hold?"

"Surprisingly, no."

Neal raised a brow. "Revealing. So you've already investigated it?"

Fiona grinned. "Just in case. A girl needs to be prepared. The assignment is supposed to last for three to six months. If I'm not back by the start of fall classes, I could apply to take courses in Paris. Columbia offers a dual master's with the Pantheon–Sorbonne."

"Three to six months?" Neal sat back, making a face. "Three to six months thinking about you hooking up with a Frenchman."

"You could visit me . . . preferably frequently. Help me keep those Frenchman at bay," she suggested enticingly.

Neal nodded his approval. "Excellent idea. Summer's coming up. I'm going to need a vacation after surviving a year at Columbia." He got up to remove their plates.

Fiona followed him into the kitchenette. "I've been checking out plane schedules. There are a surprising number of cheap flights between New York and Paris. And if you're accepted into the PhD program, you could specialize in the French Impressionists, French Expressionism or perhaps Les Fauves. You have an affinity for Matisse, after all."

"I detect a recurring theme in your suggestions," he said, chuckling.

"You're right. They all require frequent trips to France, particularly Paris." Taking the plates from his hands and placing them on the counter, she wrapped her arms around his hips. "You realize living in Paris would have a serious disadvantage from my perspective, don't you?"

He drew her close. "Is that so? Then we better make the most of the time we have."

 **Federal Building. February 14, 2005. Monday.**

On Monday morning when Peter got off at the elevator, Neal was already at his desk. He was wearing a tie Peter hadn't seen before—a light pink and burgundy jacquard. It looked Italian and expensive. A nod to Valentine's Day? Peter stopped to chat on his way upstairs. "Good weekend?"

Neal nodded, breaking into a smile. "You set for tonight?"

"Yep. Got it all planned."

"Corner booth at Donatella's?"

"Naturally, and I walked Satchmo this morning before leaving."

"Truer love . . ."

"You got that right. What do you and Fiona have on tap?"

"We both have seminars tonight, so Fiona and I celebrated on the weekend. I also spoke with Henry. Do you have time to discuss it?"

"I have a meeting with Hughes in a few minutes. Let's get together afterward." Hughes had texted Peter at home that morning. On the way to work, Peter had speculated on what the subject would be. His best guess was it concerned Interpol. Hughes's contact was stationed at the Interpol headquarters in France and communications were normally held early in the day. As it turned out, his guess about Interpol was correct, but the subject concerned neither Azathoth nor Adler.

"You remember the conference in Brussels last month sponsored by the International Council of Museums?" Hughes asked when Peter had taken a seat in his office.

Peter nodded. That was the same conference Bosch had referred to.

"Apparently the museums held Interpol's hands to the fire. With art crime being the third highest grossing criminal trade, the amount of resources Interpol devotes to it is pitifully inadequate. The Bureau's no better."

"I agree." And if he didn't, Neal would have hammered it into him. He'd been on a one-person campaign for the past few months to make art crimes a higher priority for White Collar.

"Interpol's finally decided to do something about it. They've set up a task force to coordinate art crime investigations. John Hobhouse has been appointed to lead the new effort. You familiar with him?"

"He's from Scotland Yard, isn't he?"

"That's right. Good man. We worked together on the Barclays Bank robbery back in 1993. John's an Oxford graduate. His wife, Laura, was an art professor at the Courtauld Institute in London. My wife Ilsa became a close friend of Laura's." Hughes paused, his creased features softening. "Ilsa took it hard when Laura died. That must be over five years ago now." Shaking off the thoughts, he added, "This is a job tailor-made for John's expertise. He'll do well in it."

"Have you spoken with him about it?"

Hughes nodded. "We talked early this morning. The appointment just came through and he's in the process of building his team. John has already contacted the Bureau Director. Because some of the art crimes are being used to fund terrorist activities, the FBI is also making them a higher priority and is eager to have representation on the task force."

"Will the members be transferred to Interpol?"

"No. They'll serve part time in an advisory capacity—working with museums and local police authorities, providing assistance on security matters, and coordinating responses to threats. John's coming to the States this week to meet with Bureau officials and interview candidates. He's already scheduled a meeting with Kramer in D.C."

Peter nodded. That made sense. The FBI Art Crimes Unit was led by Philip Kramer, his former mentor. He'd no doubt mount an aggressive campaign for a seat on the new task force.

"John also wants to come here. He'd like to meet with you. Apparently Azathoth was quite a topic of discussion at the conference. The museums are clamoring for something to be done about the cybersecurity threat he poses. And now with Ydrus"—Hughes paused, beating a staccato beat with his pen on his desk—"Some have raised the question if Azathoth could be part of the Ydrus organization."

Peter shrugged. "If he's not a member, he unquestionably would consider them a prime buyer for his malware. We know he supplied Klaus Mansfeld. I imagine he'd sell to anyone who can afford it. Do you know when Hobhouse is arriving?"

"Friday, most likely. He's going to give me a firm date later this week."

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Once the meeting with Hughes was concluded, Peter called Neal into his office. Before discussing Henry, Peter told him the news and Neal's reaction was predictably enthusiastic. "I'll let you know his timing. I wouldn't be surprised but Hobhouse will want you to include you in the meeting."

"I'd love to be on the task force—work on overseas art crimes, spend more time on art crimes in the States." Neal sighed and looked at Peter hopefully. "What do you think our chances are?"

Peter had to shake his head. "I suspect Kramer's going to campaign hard to be on it, and I doubt the Bureau will be allocated many slots. Hughes estimates there may be twelve people appointed altogether and because of the global nature of the work, the Bureau could be restricted to only one or two seats."

Neal fixed his eyes on him. "Do you think my past will knock me out of consideration?"

"You're asking me a tough question. Honestly, I don't know. There are other factors that could count against you. You've been working here for barely a year and you're a consultant, not an agent. On the other hand, your track record at the Bureau has been excellent and your studies at Columbia should carry some weight."

"Even if I don't make the cut, Hobhouse needs you on it. You could go on assignments to London and Paris and send me postcards."

"Wait a minute. I'm not sure I'd even want it. I'd miss El, my dog, my games. I like not having to travel."

"El could join you on some of the trips. I bet she'd love it. I could dog sit."

"Before you sign me up for French lessons, let's get back to the here and now. Tell me about your call with Henry."

Neal looked pleased as he leaned forward and placed his elbows on Peter's desk. "It went well. Henry's first day back at the office is today. He feels there's a strong chance he'll be able to persuade Win-Win to partner with us. Henry said some of the investors who were bilked in the Ponzi scheme may be willing to fund an investigation."

"Any idea when he'll get back to us?"

"Most likely later this week. I'll keep you informed. Henry also said he hadn't uncovered anything on Adler."

"Did you tell him about the candy wrapper?"

"No. I knew you'd want to wait till the partnership was agreed to. You'll also be happy to learn that I stressed the need to be a team player, and he agreed."

"Good," said Peter with satisfaction. "We'll make it a clean slate."

"Thanks. I knew I could count on you." Neal paused for a moment. "You gave me a second chance and now you're doing the same for Henry. We both appreciate it." His words gave Peter an unexpected glow. Neal was a genius at tossing in the unexpected thoughtful remark. "With all the talk about international activities, I wondered about my status for international travel. I assume there's no restriction to my traveling abroad?"

"As long as you use your own passport, you're fine," Peter assured him. "You confessed to a few crimes you committed overseas, but for the countries involved, their justice departments have reciprocal relations with ours." He paused to collect his thoughts. "But you need to understand that your history is on file with Interpol as well as the FBI. If you're at the Louvre and the Mona Lisa is stolen, you'll be suspected. As for any crimes you _may_ have overlooked mentioning, well, the statute of limitations for each country is different, but my advice is don't make them an issue now."

Neal nodded. Peter didn't need to hit him over the head with it. Neal already knew that Peter realized he'd only admitted to a fraction of the crimes he'd committed in Europe.

"Any particular reason you're asking?"

"Fiona may be transferred to Paris for a short-term assignment. I haven't been there in a while and thought I might visit her this summer."

"How long would she be gone?"

"Maybe three to six months."

"That will be a true test of your relationship. Long distance isn't easy."

"Yeah. Other than an excuse to visit Paris, I'm not looking forward to it." Neal rose to leave. At the door he stopped and turned around. "You remember the photo you found last fall of Chantal, Klaus, and me? You held on to it, thinking I might like to have it. I didn't take you up on the offer then, but I'd like to now."

Peter was surprised to hear his request. That photo had been taken when Neal lived with the Mansfelds in Geneva, and before Chantal had divorced Klaus. In a moment of surprising candor, Neal had told Peter that Klaus liked to think of himself as Neal's older brother, and Neal let him. That was before Neal knew he was a murderer. In Geneva Neal regarded Klaus as the consummate art thief who was instructing Neal in how to be one himself. When Klaus was killed at the Metropolitan Museum of Art last fall, Neal had felt too much guilt to want the photo. Was his request for the photo a sign that he'd come to terms with what happened and was ready to move on? Chantal had. A former master safecracker, she now ran a bistro in Paris. "No problem. I'll bring it to the office. Are you planning to visit her if you go to Paris?"

A knock on the door interrupted Neal's answer. Jones had arrived with news to share. "My contact in Canada just alerted me. The plastic surgeon from Montreal who owns the house Azathoth used for the kidnapping? He's moved to Salzburg."

"That's where Maier Bioscience is headquartered, isn't it?" Neal asked. The company had made several payments to the surgeon including a large fee a few weeks before the kidnapping, but confidentiality agreements had prevented discovering the reason for the payments. Then last month a USB drive containing photos of Neal and Peter was found in an apartment leased by Maier. But, despite their best efforts, no progress had been made since then in discovering a connection between the company and Azathoth.

"That's right," Jones said, stepping into the office. "The surgeon, Gilbert Bergeron, is now registered as an employee for Maier. Interpol has alerted Austrian authorities about him."

Peter knew the frustration was apparent in his voice. "Bergeron will still claim his contract prevents any discussion. He's being protected and there's nothing we can do about it."

"Not necessarily," Neal countered with a smile. "If I go to Paris, I could make a side trip to Salzburg and check out his files."

"Breaking and entering?" Peter shot back. "That's bound to win you friends at Interpol."

Neal didn't budge. "We should discuss this with Hobhouse, Peter. If Interpol's serious about making a dent in art crimes, they may have to relax their standard operating procedures."

"Want me to look into the Austrian legal code?" Jones asked.

Neal raised a brow, challenging him, and Peter checked his initial inclination to swat Jones's offer down. Neal probably didn't mean it, but with him, it was hard to tell for sure. Peter sat back in his chair. "Go ahead, Jones. Let's find out how much we can do legally before considering any Caffrey maneuvers."

 **Donatella's, Brooklyn. February 14, 2005. Monday evening.**

"To the love of my life." El raised her wine glass and clinked it with Peter's. "To Professor Peter Gilman, Archaeologist at Miskatonic University."

"You're never going to let me live that one down, are you?" Peter said, rubbing the back of his neck. El's eyes were dancing in the reflected glow of the red candles on the table. Donatella's had also supplied red roses for all the tables. Italian arias were being played in the background. He was glad the restaurant was full and service was slow. This was one meal he wanted to linger over.

"Why should I? I find archaeologists very sexy. Indiana Jones, Daniel Jackson, move over," El said with a laugh. "Does Diana know that Kramer nicknamed you the Archaeologist?"

"I don't think so. No one on my present team has even met Kramer."

El chewed her lower lip. "So, did you ask Diana about . . .?"

Peter waggled his finger at her. "Yes, I did, conniving one, and you're in her stories too."

El clapped her hands delightedly, startling the waiter as he placed the tiramisu on the table.

"I had my concerns but Tricia feels the best way for all of us to stay safe will be if Azathoth reads the stories and finds us so charming he won't want to harm you or inflict pain to those you care about, and so I'm willing to try."

"Did you learn any details?"

"Oh, you're very impressive. Head neurologist at the university medical center."

"A doctor? I've always wanted to play a doctor. Are we married?"

"Diana had originally intended for you be single, but I convinced her that would have been a very bad idea. I'm happy to say that being her boss does have its privileges."

El sighed theatrically. "Too bad. I would have loved to have read how she described your endearing efforts at flirting. Of course, I would have played hard to get and the other men vying for my attention would—"

"—All of which is convincing me I made the right decision." He beckoned to the waiter for some coffee.

"I wonder . . . do you think she'd mind a few suggestions about my character?"

"You might as well. Everyone else is. At the meeting Neal gave her a twenty-page document Mozzie had written about his character."

El's eyes widened. "I didn't think Mozzie even knew Diana."

"He doesn't, but this will undoubtedly be the lure to reel him in. Why she should want to, I don't know."

"Now, Peter. Mozzie would be a great help for Diana. Didn't he write the script for the video Aidan's making of Yellowface, the Masked Avenger?"

"He did, but I'm going to insist he keep his hands off my character."

El chuckled. "That's probably wise. I must ring Mozzie up and we can brainstorm together. Such exciting news. Peter, this was the perfect evening."

"Nothing beats a corner booth at Donatella's, especially when my table is graced with the most beautiful woman here."

El smiled. "On second thought, I'm glad you told Diana that we should be married. Now I won't have to worry about coeds stealing you away. And speaking of the college crowd, do you know if Neal is taking Fiona out for Valentine's Day?"

"They have classes tonight so they already celebrated."

"They've been seeing each other for what, four months now? How serious do you think they are?"

"Hard to say. My best guess is that they're wondering about that themselves. Neal told me Fiona may be transferred to Paris later this spring."

"Really? That may force them to do some hard thinking."

"I believe he already is. He mentioned he may visit her in Paris this summer. He even asked to have that photo of Chantal and Klaus back." Peter was about to continue, but stopped short and took a sip of coffee instead. The old Peter would have voiced his concerns, but not the new improved version.

But El was too wise to be deceived. "You don't seem very happy with that. Surely you trust him."

"Of course. It's not that." He shook his head. "I guess I still worry about how many skeletons he has in his closet from his years overseas. I should be happy he wants that photo. But instead, I wonder what hidden dangers are lurking in Europe."

"Neal would tell you, you worry too much. His asking for the photo is a sign he's accepted what happened with Mansfeld. You should be pleased. Besides, who wouldn't want to go to Paris?"

Was that a note of envy in her voice? "You know, we've never discussed going to Europe."

She shrugged. "I guess we've always been too busy with our jobs, but that doesn't mean I've never thought about it."

Peter moved his coffee cup aside and, placing his elbows on the table, leaned toward her. "Well, I'm asking now. Would you like to?"

El studied him, puzzled. "Are you seriously offering me a trip to Paris? Can I start packing now?"

Peter chuckled ruefully. "I guess that answers my question. The reason I asked is that there's a chance—a very slim chance— that I might be appointed to an Interpol art crimes task force. And before you start making plans to move to London, or Lyon, or wherever it's centered, it would be part time. I'd still retain my present job. Maybe only have the occasional trip."

Her face lit up brighter than the candles on the table. "But you must be excited! I am. What about Neal? Is he being considered too?"

"That's unclear. Neal's situation with Interpol is much more tenuous than what he has with the Bureau. They know about his history before joining us but they may not be familiar with all the exemplary work he's done for us in the past year."

While they finished their dessert, they continued to discuss the new task force. That El was so open to him traveling was a revelation. Not only that, she was looking forward to participating in trips too. Finding the time to take a vacation had been a challenge for them the past several years. El was viewing this as an opportunity to combine work with international getaways. Her enthusiasm was making Peter also warm up to the prospect, although he cautioned her it was unlikely he'd be selected.

 **Schermerhorn Hall, Columbia University. February 14, 2005. Monday evening.**

On Monday evening, when Neal got out of his seminar on abstract expressionism, Fiona was waiting for him in the hallway. She broke into a smile when she saw him. "You wore the tie I gave you!"

"Of course. It reminded me of you all day," he said, putting an arm around her.

"Then you should wear it every day," she said as they walked to the stairs. "We're in luck. Weatherby's won't need me at the auction on Saturday. I went ahead and purchased tickets for the exhibition on the way to class."

"Let's make a day of it. Dinner afterwards. We could go to La Palette. It's close to the Met."

"Thank you for not asking me to cook!" she said with a laugh. They continued to make their plans as they took the stairs down to the first floor. Most Mondays Neal accompanied Fiona to the taxi stand before heading home since her seminar on nineteenth century photography was held in the classroom next to his. As they passed the student lounge, Neal saw a man leaning against the doorframe. His tweed hat was partially obscuring his face, but Neal didn't need to see his face to know who he was.

He felt the muscles in his neck tighten. Matthew Keller. At Columbia. On his home turf.

Keller nodded as they passed, but Neal was careful to give no sign that he recognized him. He had to get Fiona out of harm's way fast. He continued to chat with her till they reached the building entrance. There he made an excuse that he'd forgotten to turn in a form to his advisor and needed to go back upstairs.

"More paperwork for your PhD application?" she asked.

"Yeah, it never ends. Sherkov's sponsoring my candidacy but his offer didn't extend to the paperwork."

She squeezed his hand. "No problem. I'll see you tomorrow at class."

"Right." He smiled and waited till she'd walked several yards away from the building before returning to the lounge. Keller had taken a seat in a sectional in the far corner where he was reading a newspaper.

Neal sat down beside him. On a Monday evening, and particularly on Valentine's Day, the lounge was deserted. One student was working on his laptop but Keller had chosen the opposite corner. They could safely talk without being overhead. Neal had prepared his script on the way back to the lounge.

"Sweet gig you got running, Caff," Keller said in a low tone, smirking with approval. "Not bad at all."

His voice rasped more than ever, making the hairs on the back of Neal's neck prickle like Keller had scraped his fingernail along a blackboard. He hadn't thought about how much he hated the grating sound of his voice in a long time. "Why are you here?"

"Can't an old buddy visit you? You get my card?"

Neal nodded. "Not a long message on it."

"Those were good times. You and me on the Cote d'Azur. You must miss those days." Keller looked around the lounge. "I gotta say, though, I'm impressed. The Registrar was very helpful. Dual master's, huh? Art history, visual arts? Well played. You even joined the fencing club. What's your angle?"

"Long con," Neal said shortly.

Keller grimaced. "I can see that. You could be a little more forthcoming. You been at this for what, over a year now? Living in a mansion. Enjoying the good life. Art exhibits in SoHo. Not too shabby, although insects aren't my thing."

"You're telling me stuff I already know. New York's not your normal territory. I repeat, why are you here?"

"You know what an art lover I am. I've been taking in the sights. Speaking of which, that's a sweetheart you were walking with. You should have introduced us."

"She's just another student. No one special."

"Is that so? You and she looked pretty tight when you hailed a taxi for her on Sunday morning."

"Just one of many, Keller. So you need my help getting around the art exhibits?"

"Maybe. But here's the thing. I see you at the FBI. Been there for over a year. So I'm saying to myself, has my pal Caff flipped? Are you playing both sides of the game now?"

Neal gave a short humorless laugh. "They were going to imprison me. Had me nailed for a forged bond. I made a bargain. It's like a work release. I have a few more years to go. It's turned out to be a great deal. I have an inside track of how they work." Neal made sure his eyes glittered. "I can screw them whenever I want."

Keller eyed him appraisingly. "Not bad, if it's true. Not your style, though. You're not that ruthless."

"I'm not the young, naive kid you knew."

"Maybe not. Then again, maybe you're trying to pull one over on your pal. But, hey, it's Valentine's Day. I'm feeling generous. I'll get back to you in a few days and we'll talk more." Keller got up. "Go find Fiona. You two kids have fun."

Neal snorted. "She's already had the Caffrey thrill. I got a redhead lined up for tonight." They walked out of the building together. Neal gave Keller the number to a burner phone and watched as Keller got into a cab on Amsterdam Avenue.

Had Keller bought it? Acting like he didn't care about Fiona was the only way Neal knew to keep him from making a play for her. The nausea he felt now from turning himself into the mirror image of Keller was worth it if he'd succeeded. Neal hoped the stench from his words would wash off in the shower.

As he headed home he considered calling Peter, but late in the evening on Valentine's Day? No, tonight he'd stress for the both of them. Tomorrow would be soon enough to give Peter heartburn.

* * *

 ** _Notes_** _: In the canon episode "Bottlenecked," Neal describes Keller as being the blue-collar version of himself—a statement which may have revealed more about Neal than Keller. Although both Keller and Neal are expert con artists, thieves, and chess players, Keller has none of Neal's compassion and decency. Next week in Chapter 4: Knight to King's Bishop 4, Peter won't be the only one suffering heartburn from Keller's arrival in town._

 _The Mirror of Tutankhamun is fictitious. I based the description on an Ancient Egyptian mirror of the same dynasty. The other Egyptian artifacts are all genuine. You can find pins for them on The Mirror board on our Caffrey Conversation Pinterest site as well as other visuals for the chapter. If you'd like to read more about the objects in the exhibition, I've written about them for our blog._

 _Many thanks to Penna Nomen for her help with this Valentine's Day chapter. We hope your Valentine's Day contained no nasty surprises like Neal had._

 ** _Blog_** _: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation_ _  
 **Chapter Visuals and Music** : The Mirror board on the Caffrey Conversation Pinterest website_


	4. Knight to King's Bishop 3

**Chapter 4: Knight to King's Bishop 3**

 **Federal Building. February 15, 2005. Tuesday morning.**

Peter arrived at work, still feeling a Valentine glow from the previous night. If he had more than the usual smile on his face, it was completely understandable. Last night had been an auspicious start to the adventures of Peter Gilman the Archaeologist and his wife Elizabeth the Neurologist.

When he entered the bullpen, Neal was already working at his desk. He stood up when he saw Peter approach. "How was Donatella's?"

"It fully lived up to my high expectations."

"That's good." Neal's smile stopped short of his eyes and he appeared distracted. Peter's radar, dormant for several weeks, sprang to life and pinged out a warning of trouble ahead. Confirmation didn't take long to arrive. "There's something we need to discuss," Neal added. "Do you have the time?"

"Sure. Come on up. We have an hour before the morning briefing's due to start." When they entered his office, Neal closed the door behind him and didn't take a seat but stood leaning against the door. "What's on your mind?" Peter asked, removing his coat.

"Keller's in town."

Peter wheeled around to stare at him. "How do you know this?"

"Yesterday evening when I left my seminar he was waiting for me in the student lounge."

Matthew Keller. No wonder Neal looked tense. Peter had never investigated a case involving the man but had researched him when Neal referred to Keller during his confession to gain immunity. What stuck out was the overall impression: Keller was bad news. "Why didn't you call me?"

"Thought about it," he admitted, "but on Valentine's Day? Nothing you could have done last night."

"Did you talk with him? Find out why he was there?"

Neal nodded. "He's planning a job. I don't have any details yet, but I have our conversation recorded on my watch."

In one of the measures they'd adopted last month after Azathoth reemerged on the scene, Travis requisitioned watches for Neal and Peter which featured enhanced recording and GPS capabilities. This was the first demonstration of their usefulness. "Keller's appearance at Columbia was obviously not an accident. He intended to meet you." Peter paused to consider the implications. "How much does he know about your present situation?"

"A lot." Neal walked over to the window and looked down at the plaza in front of building. Turning around, he said, "Remember when I thought someone was following me in SoHo? It was Keller. He knows I work at the FBI—accused me of flipping. I told him I'd worked out a deal to avoid going to prison. I think he bought it. He knows I'm a grad student, what courses I take, that I fence, where I live . . ." His voice trailed off for a moment before he added, "He knows about Fiona."

"How did you play it?"

"The last time we saw each other, we didn't part on friendly terms. There's no point in pretending we're buddies now, but that doesn't mean I'd refuse to work with him. He wouldn't give me any details but said he'll contact me. The question is not how I played it last night but how do you want me to handle it going forward? Do you want me to turn him down or let him recruit me?"

Neal's face had hardened into a look far removed from his normal self. Keller must have really gotten to him. Peter reviewed in his mind what he remembered of Keller. Arms smuggling, robberies—antiquities, Krugerrands, jewels, art. Keller operated primarily in Europe. There had been a recent Interpol report which linked him to the theft of a gold shipment in Russia. To Peter's knowledge he'd never done a job in New York. Whatever Keller was planning must be lucrative enough to make it worth the risk. Peter glanced over at Neal, who'd resumed facing the window.

"I can't answer that yet, and I know you don't expect me to. Before any decision is reached, you have to tell me everything you know about him. No holding back. This can't be like Mansfeld. I need to know up front all the hidden 'gotcha's' and ticking time bombs."

He nodded agreement. "I realize I should have been more open with you about how closely I worked with Klaus. I won't repeat that mistake."

"All right, let's take a quick break, get some coffee, and then you're going to start talking." With coffee in front of him, Neal would be forced to sit down.

Five minutes later they were back in his office. "Start at the beginning," Peter ordered, pulling out a pad of paper to take notes. "Where'd you meet?"

Neal took a sip and cleared his throat. "In Amsterdam. When Henry's father blackmailed me in 2001, I had no money and no plans. Found a cheap flight to Amsterdam and grabbed it. I met Keller playing backgammon at the Holland Casino."

"Backgammon, seriously? Not poker?"

He shrugged. "I was aiming for a more sophisticated look."

"How old were you? Twenty-one?" Peter refrained from rolling his eyes. He knew Neal wasn't acting rationally when he fled to Europe, and more to the point, he knew Neal was fully aware of the fact. No need to rub it in.

"Yeah. Anyway, Keller recruited me to work in his crew. In hindsight, I can't understand why I felt I could trust him, but I wasn't thinking very clearly at the time." He looked up as if he expected Peter to hammer him and appeared to relax a little when Peter made no comment. Neal took a breath and continued. "Keller took me along to Monte Carlo. From there we went on a crime spree, concentrating on the Riviera."

As he talked about those early days with Keller, Peter began to understand the nature of their relationship. Henry had been a stabilizing force after Neal ran away from home. Neal had already explained that he spiraled out of control when that tie was severed, and now Peter realized that the guy dragging him down into the maelstrom had been Keller.

"I was working a job with him in Nice when I met Klaus. He offered me a place on his crew and I left Keller, but I worked with him a few more times." Neal took another sip of coffee, his eyes slanting toward the window.

"What was your last job with him?"

"Shortly before I left Geneva. He persuaded me to join his crew for a job in Madrid. One of the guys thought he'd left evidence behind. Keller shot him on the spot. It turned out he hadn't left anything behind after all," he added bitterly. "Keller's actions left me nauseated. Sick for the guy that had been killed, disgusted with myself for working with someone like Keller. A little before Madrid I'd worked with Keller and André on a job in Geneva—"

"Hold on a minute. You're talking about André Renard, your former fencing coach?"

"That's right."

"André knows you as Gary Rydell. Does Keller know about your Gary Rydell alias?"

Neal nodded. "He helped me set it up. I worked several jobs on the Riviera as Gary Rydell. Some of Keller's crew members knew me as Neal, others as Gary. Keller was amused by my double identity." He picked up one of Peter's pens and started twirling it between his fingers. "André made a mistake on a robbery. Keller was furious. I claimed I'd been the one who messed up, and he eventually let me off the hook. I knew he was dangerous but I didn't think he was homicidal. And then Madrid happened. That was the last time I worked with him. A couple of months later Klaus shot the guard in Berlin and I came to New York. Fell in with Adler."

Peter rubbed his forehead as he heard Neal go through his litany of role models and bit back the sarcastic comment on his lips. "Did you ever see Keller again?"

"I did. It was close to two years ago, here in New York. Keller tried to recruit me for a job at the Guggenheim Museum, and I turned him down. I had no desire to be associated with him and no reason to. I was working for Adler then. Keller didn't give up though—he went after Kate." Neal stood up and went over to stand by the window. Peter had the impression that if he could have jumped out of his skin, he would have. "Keller can put on a charming façade if he wants to. He did that with me when we first met. He insinuated himself into her favor and they started dating. It was deliberate—his way to blackmail me into working with him."

"That must have driven you crazy— seeing Kate and him together." It was clear how painful it still was to even talk about two years later.

"I couldn't figure out why she'd have anything to do with him. She told me later that Adler had ordered her to. As far as I know, Adler had never employed Keller but he probably had heard about him and was taking advantage of the situation to learn more about both of us. Eventually Keller abandoned his efforts to recruit me and left New York. I figured he returned to Europe. I don't think he ever pulled the Guggenheim job he was trying to recruit me for."

"How long did it take you to find out about Kate's motivation?"

"A week after he left I confronted her about it. When she claimed Adler had encouraged her, I was too lost in her to give her any grief about it. I was just glad she was free of him."

"And that was the last time you saw him?"

Neal nodded. "That's it." He exhaled and sat back down.

Peter considered. With Neal, it seemed like all roads kept curving back to Adler. "Do you think there's any chance Keller's working for Adler now?"

He thought for a moment. "I'd say it's highly doubtful. Keller plays it freelance, selling to the highest bidder. Loyalty is not in his vocabulary. He's only out for himself. Adler's the opposite. Demands total loyalty of those who work for him. Keller might be his tool, but I don't think he'd be an integral part of Adler's operation."

Peter wasn't so sure about that but he wasn't going to debate the point with him now. "Any speculation on what Keller's planning?"

"It's gotta be a heist, but it could be anything at this point." Neal paused, fingering his coffee mug. "Full disclosure here. Keller's been so successful because he gets others to do the dirty work. He uses coercion, blackmail—whatever it takes—to force them to play his game. If I refuse to work for him, he may go after Fiona just like he did with Kate or he could pick someone else I know to try to force me."

So that was why Neal was so upset. He wasn't concerned about going after Keller, but what Keller would do to someone he cared about. "He said he'd let you know in a few days. Why didn't he just go ahead?"

"I don't know for sure but I suspect he's waiting for something or someone to arrive."

Peter glanced at his watch. "I'm going to cancel the morning briefing and reschedule it for the afternoon. Take your watch to Travis to have the recording downloaded, then bring me the file on Keller. After I review it and talk with Hughes, I'll get back to you." He was tempted to tell him to try to relax, but knew it would be futile. Until Keller was dealt with, neither one of them would be getting much rest.

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

At eleven o'clock Peter called Neal back into his office. He'd spoken with Hughes, and the result was as he'd expected. It was not a decision Peter liked, but the alternative was even less appealing. Neal seemed to have his emotions better in control. He slid into a chair, if not exactly cocky, at least with his normal assurance. It made Peter suspect the worst part for Neal had been confessing to his history with Keller. With that over with, he could focus on how to take him down. Peter hoped he was reading him correctly.

"I'm putting aside personal feelings on this. From a strictly objective standpoint, Hughes and I agree that this is too good an opportunity to pass up." No need to point out the dangers. Neal was fully aware of them. "You're giving us an excellent shot at taking down Keller."

Neal nodded. "It's really the only decision that can be made."

"To take him down, you're going to need to convince him you're as ruthless as he is. Think you can manage it?"

"Don't worry about me. I'll get the job done," he said quietly. "This needs to end here."

"Until he calls back there's not much we can do or am I missing something?"

"I don't think so. Is it okay if I cut out early for the next couple of days? I'd like to spend time working on my art for Tac-Con. Get it as far along as possible before things break."

"You sure you want to go ahead with the convention?"

"Of course. Hopefully we'll have already taken Keller into custody before it starts."

"All right, go ahead. After all, preparing those paintings is job related." He was glad to hear Neal's idea. Neal used painting to control his nerves, and that was exactly what he needed. It made Peter wonder if he shouldn't take up painting too. He had the feeling that he was going to need major stress-reduction therapy himself before Keller could be brought to justice.

"Do you think it'd be possible to get protection for Fiona? If I play along, Keller will probably leave her alone, but I can't be sure he won't come onto her just to annoy me and prove he can."

Peter considered. "Keller's made no threat. I could try to get approval for a safe house, but without any indication of her being in danger, my chances aren't good."

"That wouldn't work anyway," Neal said. "Keller would immediately suspect a double-cross."

"How much danger do you think she's in?"

"She should be okay. But if Keller thinks I'm playing him,"—his jaw tightened—"he'll go after her. Keller's an expert at spotting someone's vulnerability and at taking advantage of it. He knew Kate was my weakness so he went after her."

"Yeah, but he didn't harm her, did he?"

"No," Neal admitted.

"Who has he harmed?"

"The only ones I know of are members of his crew who screwed up."

"Has he ever kidnapped anyone?"

"Not to my knowledge."

"Injured any family member or close friend?"

"He's talked about it, but I don't know of any instance. It may have been an empty threat."

"So he could be all bluster. Neal, I'm glad you're weighing the dangers, but you can't get carried away with it. You're going to warn her about him, aren't you?"

He nodded. "Yeah, but … You're right. Logically he should leave her alone, but I can't help wishing she had a business trip she could go on for a couple of weeks."

"Any chance of that?"

He shook his head. "Not possible. She's on the advisory panel which is charged with evaluating how Weatherby's handles authentications. That's the one Sara was appointed to. She flew in Sunday and will be town for at least two weeks."

 **Weatherby's Auction House. Tuesday midday.**

Sara looked at her watch. One o'clock. Was it ever going to end?

The morning had been one long interminable meeting which had now stretched into the afternoon. This was Sara's second day working at Weatherby's and she'd quickly learned that its clocks were on a different schedule from hers. Meetings started late and once they got going, dragged on endlessly. Days like this were making her long to be back in the field. The smoothie she'd had for breakfast was a distant memory. She'd sent a desperate look to Fiona who was sitting next to her. Fiona smiled in sympathy and mouthed the word _soon_.

When the meeting finally broke for lunch, Fiona suggested an Indian restaurant down the street from Weatherby's.

"I'm starving," Sara warned. "They better not have slow service."

"Not to worry. It's a buffet," Fiona assured her. "The silver lining in this is that we're eating so late, I won't need dinner. I have a class this evening. There's barely time after work to make it to Columbia, let alone eat. Neal was able to switch to the early shift at the Bureau. No such option for me, unfortunately."

Fiona was right. Within fifteen minutes of entering the Tamarind Grill they were seated at a table, heaping plates in front of them, and Sara was nibbling contentedly on a samosa. She gazed around the restaurant. It was more upscale than the Indian restaurants she'd frequented when she lived in New York. The spacious restaurant was surprisingly refined with recessed lighting and teak chairs. Large Indian paintings hung on the walls. Hanging Indian glass globe lanterns made the tables seem intimate and romantic. Sara pointed to a central area. "That appears to be a stage. Do they have live music?"

Fiona nodded. "On Friday and Saturday nights, they have live sitar music. Neal and I often come here on Friday evenings to celebrate the end of the work week."

"I can understand why," Sara said. "Did you come here for Valentine's Day?"

Fiona laughed. "With our schedules?" She dipped her pakora into mint sauce. "We had a seminar last night so celebrated on the weekend. You and Bryan must have celebrated early too."

Sara nodded. "On Friday night."

"With his track record, he probably took you to the most exclusive club in London."

Sara shrugged. "You know Bryan. Nothing but the best." Her voice sounded flat even to her.

Fiona gave her a puzzled look. "Everything's okay between you two, I hope?"

"Yes and no." What should she tell her? Sara hadn't talked about Bryan to anyone but perhaps she should. They'd grown close over the Christmas holiday when Fiona took her on the rounds of her favorite London shops. Ever since Bryan's proposal, Sara had been wishing she had someone to confide to.

"Sara, what's going on? You're not acting like yourself."

"I know. I'm usually the cool, in charge girl. Instead here I am, a jelly belly. Bryan popped the question earlier this month."

Fiona's face lit up, and Sara couldn't help wishing she felt the same way. "Congratulations—that's wonderful!"

"Don't get excited yet. I haven't decided. Honestly, I was glad to have this assignment to give me time to think. Some fiancée I'd make. Instead of stocking up on issues of _Modern Bride_ , I'd rather bury myself in authentication protocol no matter how long the meetings run." Sara tried to make a joke about it, but from Fiona's concerned expression, she could tell she wasn't succeeding very well.

"You're not sure if you love him, are you?"

Sara nodded in agreement. "You know I was dreading he was going to propose? That sounds awful, but it's the truth. The trouble is he wants to move so much more quickly than I'm comfortable with. If he'd just slow down then I could sort things out, but we're already so far along, applying the brakes now will inevitably lead to a train wreck. And there I go being a jelly belly again, stressing about train collisions." Sara shook herself. "Tell me some good news. You and Neal are having smooth sailing, I hope?"

"We're fine. Or rather, I'm fine. Neal's in recovery mode."

"What do you mean?"

"He came back from an assignment looking like he'd been to war. Bruised ribs. His chest resembles a Persian rug that someone stomped on with muddy boots. He claims it's not as bad as it looks, but I've heard that before." Fiona put her fork down and brushed a strand of hair off her face. She had her blond hair tied up in a loose chignon, but the more she talked, the more curls were shaking loose. She noticed Sara looking at her and laughed. Removing the comb, she shook her hair down. "I'll do repair work on myself after lunch, but Neal's not so easy to fix. He keeps telling me White Collar work isn't that dangerous, but when I look at the evidence he's presented me, it's hard to put much stock into what he says. In December when we saw you at Regnier's he'd been injured a few days earlier with some sort of stab wound. He'd never go into the details. When we first started dating? His neck looked like it'd gotten caught in a vice. He wasn't able to sing for two weeks. You tell me—are those to be expected from a non-violent consultant's job at the FBI?"

Sara shrugged. "It does seem a little excessive. But once he explained, surely—"

"That's just it. He doesn't explain." Fiona rolled her eyes. "I think it's because he doesn't want to worry me. He's convinced he needs to shield me from the big, bad world out there." She gave a sharp exhale. "It's frustrating since I know it's at least partly my own fault."

"Why do you say that?"

"A couple of weeks ago a threat was made against him. Peter and Travis burst in on us when we were singing with June at her home. They had their guns drawn and the sight spooked me silly."

"I'm sure you're being overly harsh on yourself."

Fiona shook her head glumly. "I'm afraid I made a mess of things. It was my first time around guns. Now he thinks I can't handle it. Does he act that way around you?"

"No, but we're not dating." Sara gave a brief chuckle. "Besides, he knows better than to try. I've been a fanatic on self-defense since I was a child. Sounds like Neal should take some lessons."

"Perhaps I should too. Show him that I'm not a porcelain doll which needs to be kept high up on a shelf. The thing is, Neal faces real dangers. That threat Peter received about him . . . On the one hand, it's driving me nuts worrying about him, but then I'm stressing that I'm not able to provide the kind of support he needs." She put down her fork and brushed her hair back with both hands. "It's gotten so complicated. Neal and I thought we could keep it all easy and undemanding. It's not turning out that way."

"No, it doesn't sound like it," Sara said thoughtfully. What was this threat? For Peter to charge in like that, it must have been serious. Was somebody from Neal's former life seeking revenge for something he'd done? Involuntarily her mind went back to what Bryan had told her. According to the Interpol files, Neal had been suspected of a wide range of criminal activities. It made her wonder what exactly were the terms of his work for the FBI?

"If we're ever going to move to the next level, I need to understand his world and see if I can fit in." Fiona took a sip of tea. "When we started dating I enjoyed calling him my man of mystery. Now I feel like there's a large part of his life that's hidden from me. He doesn't want to let me in." She shook her head in exasperation. "Maybe if we just rock along, this will get sorted out. He'll gradually feel he can confide in me."

"I think you're wise to go slow." Sara hesitated. Fiona's words had hit a nerve. "With Bryan, when I met him, I was convinced he was exactly the man for me. I was so confident that I'd found Mr. Right. But now sometimes I worry that I don't really know him at all. I think that's why I'm dragging my heels. He's ready to plunge ahead and can't understand why I haven't accepted. For his sake as well as mine, I need to figure out what to do. I'm hoping some time apart will bring a little clarity. I don't know if this helps your situation, but I do sympathize with what you're going through. Looking back, I fault myself for having rushed into a relationship without thinking. Now . . . who knows? Maybe Bryan is perfect for me, and I'm going to ruin my chances with him because I'm throwing up roadblocks when there's no need for any."

Fiona gave a small laugh. "Men! Why do they put us through such a grinder? I appreciate that Neal's not pressuring me, but I'm putting it on myself."

From talk of Neal and Bryan their conversation moved to clothes. Doesn't it always? Sara was relieved that Fiona hadn't asked her for advice. That would have been sticky. After Bryan told her about Neal's criminal activities, she'd been thrown for a loop. She didn't want to believe him when he told her Neal was a suspected thief and con artist, but there was no doubt that Interpol viewed him as one. Bryan even felt he might have been involved with the theft of a Raphael painting in D.C. last summer. Sara assumed that Peter knew about Neal's background, and the few times she'd seen the two of them together, he apparently viewed Neal as a trusted member of his team. But was Neal actually a criminal consultant on a work release program? Sara had researched it and discovered there had been similar cases at the FBI. But none of this jived with the man she'd grown to know and like last summer. She was left wondering how much had been a con and how much had been real.

It had been a painful shock to find out the truth about Neal, but they'd never been more than friends. Hopefully Neal would reveal himself to Fiona. She needed to know about his past and come to terms with it before committing to any long-term relationship. Surely Neal would realize that and open up on his own.

These days, Sara felt she was the last person to give advice. She was in too much of a muddle about her own situation, and the questions about Neal had heightened her unease. She'd thought about asking Peter about Neal, but, God, that got really messy. She didn't know Peter that well. How was she supposed to approach him and say, _Oh, by the way, how is it that you have a criminal working for you? Do you think Neal was the one who stole the Raphael?_

 _Bother, men._

 **Federal Building. February 15, 2005. Tuesday.**

At the afternoon briefing, Peter informed the rest of the team about Keller. Neal attended it, or at least his body was there, but his mind only paid perfunctory attention to what was going on. He felt like he'd retreated into a cocoon and the process of transforming himself into the identity he needed to assume to take down Keller had already begun. He heard what the others said, but it was if they were in a different dimension. It was surreal. Next time he saw a butterfly he was going to compare notes.

Fortunately the briefing was short with Peter providing the bulk of the information, only requesting Neal supply the occasional detail. Jones would be in charge of researching Keller's past. Together with Diana he would attempt to trace Keller's movements. Keller was a master at eluding detection. Neal didn't give them high odds for success.

Jones took advantage of the briefing to update the group on the status of the sting to capture the Dutchman. He'd decided to play the part of a Colombian drug lord with a hankering for art and was in the process of fleshing out his profile with Interpol's assistance.

Neal and Travis walked back to the lab together at the conclusion of the briefing. Travis apparently sensed that Neal was in no mood for conversation and didn't attempt to talk with him. Travis had the workstation next to his. His presence was unobtrusive and welcome.

Neal sat back in his chair and let his thoughts drift back to the same subject as last night. Would Keller contact Fiona? And then there was Angela. Had Keller spotted them together? Same last name. It wouldn't take much digging to turn her up. Reaching for his cell phone, he called Mozzie.

"Yes? Add another half of a milliliter of starfruit."

"Bad time, Mozz?"

"Billy and I are experimenting with a blend for Saint Patrick's Day. How would you react to green wine?"

"With extreme care. What shade of green are we talking about? Shamrock?"

"That was my original thought, but it's looking rather toxic."

"How about a little wild grass or sorrel? That could add a hint of exotic wildness."

"Good idea." Neal could hear Mozzie calling out to Billy. "Does Hawaii have any wild grasses?"

Neal heard the rustling of paper. Sounded like he was thumbing through pages of a book. Mozzie started mumbling Latin names. Neal hastily broke in before he lost control of the situation. "I assume you're at the Emporium. Will you be there around four o'clock? We need to meet."

" _Heteropogon contortus_ , interesting. Yes, yes. I'll still be here. You can't stay away. You want to help select the grass. Of course, only —"

"Keller's in town." Mozzie abruptly grew silent. "He was waiting for me yesterday evening at Columbia. I'll fill you in when I get there."

"Neal, this isn't good," he said plaintively. "Why didn't you call me last night?"

"Break into your Valentine plans with Janet? I'll explain when I see you."

Over at his workstation, Travis had looked up when he heard Neal call Mozzie. Afterward he rolled his chair over to talk with him. Returning him his watch, he said, "I listened to the recording you made of Keller. Unsavory character. Fiona wasn't mentioned at the briefing, but it was plain from the recording you were trying to mislead Keller about her."

Neal nodded. "Keller's a jerk. Out of spite he might try to make a play for her." Keller's reappearance had reopened an old wound. He was over Kate but not Keller. "She shouldn't have to put up with a lowlife like him. I texted her to meet me before our seminar this evening. As long as Keller feels I'm cooperating with him, he shouldn't bother her, but she needs to be warned just in case. I also have to explain why I'll be avoiding her for the duration. I'll need to do the same with Angela. I warned June about Keller last night."

"You want a lift to Columbia? I'm meeting Aidan and Mozzie there this evening."

"Thanks but I plan to leave shortly. I'm going to work on my paintings before things break." Neal was glad Travis brought up the anti-malware project. It gave him something else to think about. "Aidan's project should quiet Mozzie's space alien theories for a while."

"Did he tell you about the tunnel slime?"

"He did. Showed me the slides. What do you think? Any chance?"

Travis shook his head ruefully. "I'm afraid this one belongs in the file with Nazi clones. But his ideas about software are a different matter. He's been investigating a new way to encrypt software. It's called ultra-paranoid computing."

Neal gave a laugh, his first one of the day. "You're kidding. There is such a thing?"

Travis chuckled himself. "I understand your skepticism. It sounds like something Mozzie would dream up—like alien tunnel slime—but the concept is real and if it works as we hope, we can use music to provide an unbreakable password."

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Peter had originally slated the afternoon for the Branford embezzlement case, but focusing on accounting irregularities was difficult. He got up from his desk and looked absently out his window as he reviewed what had taken place during the briefing. He didn't like it.

He'd seen that intense look on Neal's face before. It was the same expression he'd had when he was preparing to go undercover as Charles Darcy at the Sinclair estate a year ago, again in the fall to take down Klaus Mansfeld, and then in Hawaii to con Adrian Tulane. It was like he was putting himself into a trance to conjure up a new personality. It made Peter uneasy when he witnessed it. It reminded him of the superstition that if you crossed your eyes too often, they'd get stuck. Would Neal become trapped in one of his identities and not be able to reemerge? Peter lectured himself that logically, just like crossed eyes, it couldn't happen that way, but this was one time logic wasn't helping him much.

A knock at the door interrupted his musings. As expected, it was Jones. Peter had pulled him aside after the briefing and asked him to stop by. Jones closed the door and took a seat. "I expect this is about Keller."

Peter nodded. "I'd like you to look into some areas that are best discussed without the others present." He knew Jones didn't need to ask which others Peter meant.

Peter related Neal's experience with Keller in New York. "At some point Keller stopped trying to recruit him. Neal feels it was because Keller backed off when he found out he was working for Adler. Neal also doubts that Keller works for Adler now, but I'm not so sure. What if Adler were impressed by Keller? He could have paid him off. Perhaps Keller told Adler about Neal having worked for him. Adler could have decided Keller would be a useful tool to provide leverage against Neal in the future. Could this be another attempt to discredit Neal? To involve him in a crime as a means of forcing him to return to his former life?"

"You think Keller will double-cross him and leave him holding the bag?"

Peter chose his words carefully. "I've no way to determine yet how likely it is but I'm not ignoring the possibility. Comb through the records and see if you can find any instances of communications or dealings between Adler and Keller."

"How about Fowler?"

"Especially Fowler. I remember Keller was suspected in a case of stolen Krugerrands but there wasn't enough evidence to hold him. See if Fowler worked any cases concerning Keller."

"You got it. I assume you want me to keep the research confidential?"

"For now till we see what you uncover. Go ahead and interview Neal about what went on when he worked for Adler. No need to mention Fowler at this point. There may not be anything to it and he doesn't need any additional pressure."

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

On his way out, Neal stopped by Peter's office. "Henry texted me. Suggested tomorrow at nine for the conference call. Will that work with your schedule?"

Peter nodded. "I'll alert Tricia." He reached into his drawer and pulled out a manila envelope. "I brought this in and had planned to give it to you this morning, but given everything that went on . . ."

Neal waved off his apology. "Understandable." He took the envelope and pulled out the eight by ten photo of Chantal, Klaus and himself. He hadn't seen it since the fall. Back then looking at Klaus was too painful. Now it was a pleasure to see him rather than Keller.

"That was taken in Geneva, right?"

"Yeah, Chantal was teaching me how to make brioches. Klaus was preparing a bouillabaisse as I recall while describing some job he wanted to pull . . . Chantal was giving him grief for buying the wrong kind of clams." Neal chuckled as he studied the photo. "Thanks for keeping this for me. I'm going to head on out. Get some painting done before my class this evening."

"Got your watch back on?"

"Yep." He held up his wrist for Peter to see.

"If Keller contacts you, give me a call, no matter what the hour, okay?"

Neal nodded. "He won't call till the last moment. The less advance notice he gives, the less chance of a double-cross." Neal paused for a moment. "Keller's no fool. He's an expert chess player. Out-strategizing him won't be easy."

"He's picked the wrong opponents this time." Peter's eyes locked on him. "Just remember—this is one chess game you're playing as a team, not solo."

* * *

 _ **Notes**_ _: Assuming a different identity in an undercover operation is one of the most stressful jobs in the FBI. Not only is there the stress of maintaining an identity but there are also often issues with reintegration at the completion of the op. Neal is a master con artist, but that doesn't mean he's immune to the psychological toil it takes. In writing about it for The Mirror, I was particularly inspired by Penna Nomen's treatment of the topic in Caffrey Aloha (the Adrian Tulane con). She also addressed it in By the Book (the Charles Darcy con). In this chapter, while Neal stresses about Keller going after Fiona, Peter is more concerned about Adler being involved. Next week in Chapter 5: Dangerous Liaisons, Neal receives some advice from Mozzie and meets with Keller._

 _If you'd like to refresh your memory on Kate's story, I've written about her for our blog. Penna wrote about our experiences in collaborating on the Caffrey Conversation AU._

 _Many thanks as always to Penna for her beta wisdom and to you for reading and your comments!_

 ** _Blog_** _: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation_ _  
 **Chapter Visuals and Music** : The Mirror board on the Caffrey Conversation Pinterest website_


	5. Dangerous Liaisons

**Chapter 5: Dangerous Liaisons**

 **February 15, 2005. Tuesday afternoon.**

Think of it as a chess game. That's the way Keller views it. Pure strategy. No emotions.

Neal had warned Peter that they'd have to be at the top of their game to beat Keller. He'd grown to appreciate Keller's ability when the two of them played chess on the Cote d'Azur. Keller was the toughest opponent he'd ever faced, but as his own skill improved, Neal beat him several times. Now he needed to reharness that skill. While Neal rode the subway home from work, he reviewed his options for his next move. He'd continue playing that chess game in his head until he declared checkmate.

When Neal arrived at the mansion, he stopped to talk with June before heading upstairs. He found her reading a book in the living room.

"Mozzie was here earlier," she said, gesturing for him to sit next to her on the couch. "You'll be happy to know he conducted a thorough review of our security system. Keller won't be able to intrude without us knowing about it."

"Have you seen him around?"

"Not yet. I passed his photo around to the staff. They'll also be on the lookout."

Although he was relieved to hear June was taking the threat seriously, he winced at the precautions she was being forced to make. "I'm sorry I've complicated your life."

"Don't be," she said, shaking her head reprovingly. "If you hadn't agreed to move in, my life would have become dull indeed. Now every day's a new adventure—first Azathoth, now Keller." She leaned over to whisper in his ear, "Who do you have waiting in the wings?"

"Anyone else would think I've already been enough of a bad boy," he said, breaking into a smile. "June, you're one in a million and I won't forget it." He looked over at her book. "Which author has you so fascinated now?"

"I'm still working my way through Lovecraft," she said. "I'm currently reading _The Dream Quest of Unknown Kadath_. His language, though archaic, can be surprisingly poetic. There are some passages that remind me of music. I can also understand why you said Diana plans to update his world."

"Revolutionize it may be a more appropriate term. Lovecraft might not recognize it after Diana takes command of the helm." He explained her ideas for modernizing the world of the Cthulhu Mythos and was pleasantly surprised at how engaged June was. It was apparent she'd given a great deal of thought to the stories. Diana would find her a valuable resource, and he made a mental note to suggest it to her.

His discussion with June allowed him to press the _pause_ button for what was coming up that evening and Neal wasn't eager to drag himself away. At the moment he'd much rather confront Azathoth than have to explain who Keller was to Fiona.

While he changed clothes in the loft he pondered how best to approach it. He didn't want to scare her, but if he needed to provide enough details so she'd take the threat seriously. Neal stopped to consider his reflection in the full-length mirror in the bedroom. He'd spent the past few months shielding her from the grittier aspects of his job. His relationship with her was supposed to be magic and moonlight. She'd even called him her wizard. How would her view of him change now that he'd put her in the crosshairs of Voldemort?

Fortunately he could warm up with an easier audience—Mozzie. Neal slung his backpack over his shoulder. After seeing Mozzie he'd head for his studio to paint, and from there go to his evening seminar and meeting with Fiona.

First stop was the Emporium. He found Mozzie sitting with Billy in the café located in the back of the store. A bottle of wine and three tasting glasses were on the table.

When Billy spotted Neal, he beckoned him over. "Join us. We could use your palate."

Neal swung into a chair, dropping his backpack next to him. "Is this the blend for Saint Patrick's Day?"

"No, we'll have to wait for the grasses from Hawaii to arrive before we can begin blending. That was an excellent suggestion of yours. My cousin Sam is going to send us a shipment later this week. I've never grown grasses in our greenhouse, but Maggie's excited to include them in her floral arrangements. This blend in front of you is something Mozzie's been working on for the past week. It's supposed to improve brain function."

"That's exactly what I need right now," Neal acknowledged ruefully.

Mozzie poured a small amount into one of the glasses and pushed it toward him. "Tell me what you think."

Neal held the glass up to assess the color. It was a deeper amber than their other blends. When he swirled it in the glass, the wine clung to the sides like cream sherry. He sniffed it cautiously. "Spicy, potent. I'm not sure about the amount of ginger. It makes my nose itch. And how much turmeric did you use?"

"I've been experimenting with various combinations," Mozzie said vaguely. "I'm satisfied with the ingredients although the proportions may need further refinement. I shouldn't say more. I wouldn't want to prejudice you."

Billy had fetched a glass of water and placed it next to Neal, murmuring, "You may find a chaser necessary."

Neal hesitated, not liking the implication of Billy's remark. He steeled himself, took a cautious sip, and promptly gagged. Grabbing the water, he drank half of the contents before attempting to speak.

"Too strong?" Mozzie asked innocently.

He nodded, wheezing too much to speak.

Mozzie studied him intently as if waiting to see what color he'd turn. "Try to drink another sip and then keep careful note of your brain functions over the next twenty-four hours."

"There's no way you can sell this."

"Kona coffee may be more to your liking," Billy suggested. "Would you like me to bring you a cup?"

Neal nodded gratefully. "Make it an espresso. I need something to kill the taste."

Billy rose and patted him on the shoulder. "Coming up." He added in a low voice, "Mozzie already told me about Keller being in town, and Maggie and I will keep a close watch for him. You two have a lot to talk about."

Mozzie waited till Billy had left before asking, "What does Keller want?"

"He hasn't told me, but it must be to steal something."

"You didn't exactly part on the best of terms. That may complicate matters."

"When Keller approached me in New York two years ago, I didn't attempt to hide my dislike, and I see no reason to now. Keller seems to derive pleasure out of being despised. It validates his sense of power."

Mozzie looked thoughtful. "He admires you. He likes to think you and he are alike. You can use that. Act like him. It will give him confidence and will make him easier to con."

"In other words, act like a double-crossing jerk."

"Exactly." He removed his glasses and began polishing them with his handkerchief. "Are you going to warn Fiona?"

"Yes, when I see her this evening, I'll give her his photo." Neal reached into his backpack and got out a photo. "This one's for Angela. She's been in classes all day and I haven't had a chance to speak with her, but I texted her to call me tonight. I'm going to warn her about Keller and explain the need to stay away from me. She can pick up his photo from you."

Mozzie placed the photo in his jacket. "Keller won't try anything with Fiona or Angela as long as he feels you're going along. He's well aware the threat is sufficient. They'll be all right. It's you he wants, not them."

Neal drained the last of his espresso. "I hope you're right, but I'm not that confident. I haven't seen Keller in two years. I don't think he's improved any in the interim."

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

After he left the Emporium, Neal spent a couple of hours painting. He'd hoped losing himself in his paintings for the convention would bring clarity to his thoughts, but the opposite happened. His painting muse deserted him. Rather than ruining one of his works already in progress, he pulled out a blank canvas and began a new work—a surrealist chess game. Conceptualizing the scene, he worked in quick jagged strokes. Marcel Duchamp had painted an abstract of chess players which would serve as inspiration. Duchamp had once said that not all artists were chess players, but all chess players were artists. Neal paused as he considered that disturbing thought. What kind of art would Keller paint? When the time came to leave the studio, he still didn't have an answer.

He arrived at the seminar room almost an hour ahead of time. Fiona had texted back she'd try to get there early. He didn't want to take a chance meeting her in the lounge and instead had picked a private location where they couldn't be overheard. His advisor, Ivan Sherkov, taught the seminar and should agree to Neal's request. When he entered the seminar room he was pleased to see Sherkov already there, bending over the projector as he made adjustments.

He looked up with a smile when Neal entered. "You're early. Do you have more questions about your application?"

Neal chatted with him a few minutes about it. All coursework was on auto-pilot until the situation with Keller was resolved, but it wouldn't do to reveal that to his advisor. Neal intended to submit the paper he wrote last term about Rembrandt's technique as a writing sample and Sherkov offered a few suggestions for revisions. Afterward Neal broached the real reason for him being there. "Fiona's going to meet me in a few minutes. Could I use the office behind the seminar room? We have an FBI matter to discuss." That location would eliminate any risk of Keller popping in on them.

"Not another forgery at Weatherby's I hope?"

"No, not this time, fortunately."

Sherkov readily gave his permission. He was well aware of Neal's FBI work and needed no further explanation. Neal's recovery of a Fabergé Imperial egg in the fall had been based on an initial discussion with Sherkov, and the attempted Vermeer theft and the Corot forgery were both cases he was familiar with.

When Fiona arrived, Neal led her to the office, closing the door behind them. The small room was a combination storeroom and ad hoc office, minimally furnished with a desk and a couple of chairs squeezed in among file cabinets and storage shelves.

"Aren't we being secretive?" she teased. "If Professor Sherkov hadn't said you wanted to speak about a case, I'd wonder about your motive."

Disarmed, Neal broke into a grin himself. "It beats a coat closet." He hesitated. It was so tempting to blow this off as a chance for some alone time. Now that the moment had come, he found himself suddenly tongue-tied. He flailed around for another way out. Anything. "I'm afraid I'll have to cancel our plans to visit the Tutankhamun exhibit on Saturday."

Fiona sat down and he took a seat opposite her. "It's okay. We can reschedule. The exhibit runs through March. Is it because of the case?"

"Yeah, I'll be working undercover . . ." Neal paused and took a breath.

Fiona put her hand on his. "It's okay if you don't want to tell me about it. I understand your work is confidential."

"That's just it. You need to know. I'm working to take down a thief. Name of Matthew Keller. Based on his past behavior, there's a chance he might try to use you as a way of getting at me."

Her eyes widened. "Me? How does he know about me?"

"He's been following me and has seen us together. He was waiting for me when we got out of class yesterday evening. He also saw you leave June's place on Sunday morning. He believes we're close, but I'm doing my best to convince him otherwise. I don't want him bothering you." Neal reached into his jacket pocket and passed her Keller's photo.

"You sound like you're fairly familiar with how he works."

"Yeah, Keller's pulled a similar maneuver in the past with a former girlfriend. She wasn't hurt, but I don't want to take any chances with you. I need to distance myself till the job's concluded. I hope it won't be long—perhaps a week. He should leave you alone. But if you see him hanging around, please give me a call. If he decides to make a play, most likely he'd approach you when you're at a restaurant—you probably don't go to bars too much by yourself?" That got a small chuckle. "Or, if you were at an art gallery, or out shopping, he might come up, ask a question, and try to strike up a conversation."

She nodded mutely.

"I'm really sorry, Fiona. I think the chance Keller will approach you is remote, but you need to be careful."

Neal didn't know if he was getting through to her. Despite his efforts, she was focusing on his situation rather than hers. "I don't generally talk to strangers on the street, Neal. I'll be fine. But what about you? How much danger are you going to be in? What will you have to do?"

Good questions, all of them. He wished he knew the answers.

 **Federal Building. February 16, 2005. Wednesday morning.**

Peter picked a small meeting room for the teleconference with Henry. When Neal arrived, Tricia hadn't shown up yet.

"How'd it go with Fiona last night?" he asked.

Neal dropped into a chair and immediately reached into his pocket for his rubber band ball. Peter used to wonder if he tossed it around simply to aggravate him. Now he understood Neal used it to calm his nerves and help him focus. At the moment, Neal looked like he needed some stress reduction. "Not that great. She's worried, but more about me than herself." He winced. "That wasn't my intention. I also alerted Angela and Mozzie. So far haven't heard anything more from Keller."

"How well does Mozzie know Keller?"

"They never worked together—not that Keller hasn't tried. Mozzie's heard too many reports about Keller giving friends of his a hard time and he's rejected Keller's attempts to recruit him. I wasn't that smart."

"You should console yourself that it gives you the perfect background to take him down now," Peter pointed out. "You can turn that mistake into something positive."

Tricia opened the door and walked in. "Sorry I'm late. I had a last minute call that couldn't be put off. Did I miss anything?"

Peter filled her in on the situation with Keller. She listened in silence with the occasional glance at Neal who was tossing his ball even higher. Afterward she commented, "You didn't have enough enemies to deal with? You felt like you needed one more?"

"What can I say?" he replied with a shrug. "I'm irresistible."

"We should talk more about Keller," Peter said, "but Henry's due to call." It didn't escape his notice that Neal looked relieved to have the matter dropped. "Tricia, do you have any last minute advice for our discussion with Henry?"

"At this point, I believe it would be counterproductive to bring up any accusations of why he didn't inform us about his activity in Argentina," she said.

"I agree," Neal chimed in. "He didn't do any harm. I've already talked with him about the need to cooperate. There's no reason to make an issue out of it."

Henry called promptly at nine and the conference began. Henry was all business—no smart-ass remarks. Peter was impressed. It made Peter appreciate how different his work persona was from the side he normally displayed around Peter. Neal claimed he was ready for a fresh start. Apparently he meant it.

Peter asked what he'd learned from his trip to Argentina.

"That Adler, Fowler, and Kate didn't attend the briefing."

"Did you visit the site?" Neal asked.

"I didn't see any reason to. With the team of archaeologists in place, they have a better chance of finding something than I would have. Has anything been found?"

Neal told him about the candy wrapper. "Based on its location at the site and the condition of the paper, Mitch believes it had been dropped recently, maybe a couple of months ago."

"Mitch checked with the archaeologist at the Argentina site yesterday," Tricia added. "They've found a few more coins but nothing else of value. Mitch has arranged for us to receive photos and descriptions of all the cataloged items."

Henry explained that Allen Winston, Win-Win's CEO, had given the go-ahead to approach clients about funding an investigation. They already had a couple of names on file. Allen himself was going to make the initial contacts. Henry saved his best news for last. The Argentinians had agreed to make the Buenos Aires International Airport a test case for the facial recognition software. The data from their security cameras was going to be processed at Win-Win's headquarters in Baltimore. "I've put tags on Adler, Fowler and Kate," he said. "Unless they've had plastic surgery, we'll know if they fly out of the airport. Is there anyone else we should target?"

"I have one more name for you," Peter said. "Matthew Keller. I'll send you his file."

"Who's Matthew Keller?" Henry asked. "Is he with the FBI?"

Peter glanced over at Neal with surprise. Henry didn't know about Keller? He knew about Adler. Knew about Kate. How had Neal managed to keep Keller a secret from him and more to the point, why?

In a mute response to Peter's raised eyebrows, Neal was sending him a warning signal to back off, shaking his head and looking more upset by the minute. Peter would have preferred to have Neal answer Henry, but clearly he had no intention of doing so. Peter restricted his answer to the bare essentials. "Keller's originally from Scotland. He's a con man and a criminal. Suspected of numerous robberies but has never been convicted. We're mounting a sting to catch him."

"And you think he may be connected with Adler?"

Neal was still refusing to join in the discussion so Peter fielded the question. "Keller approached Neal and wants him to work on a job, but it's possible Adler may be using Keller to try to trap Neal."

"I don't think that's very likely," Neal added mulishly, crossing his arms in front of his chest. His cell phone vibrated and he reached into his pocket to check who was calling. He gave a short exhale when he saw who it was and stood up. "Keller's on the line. I need to take this." He quickly walked out of the room.

Tricia and Peter wrapped up the call with a discussion of a memorandum of understanding with Win-Win on the Adler case, where both parties agreed to share information. Neal had yet to return when the call ended.

Closing her notebook, Tricia said in a neutral tone, "The call with Henry went well."

"I wish it had gone as well with Neal," Peter said in frustration.

Tricia was silent for a moment. "From Henry's words it was obvious Neal hadn't mentioned Keller to him, and from Neal's reaction, this isn't the way he would have chosen it. According to what you told me, Keller was the first person Neal worked for in Europe. He's probably overdosing on guilt for having gotten himself entangled him. He didn't feel ready to share it with Henry."

"You're right. Neal's already stressing about Keller making moves on his girlfriend and Angela. Now he's going to worry over what Henry might do."

"Given how Henry behaved when he found out about Fowler, it's natural he'd be concerned."

"Hell, I've put my foot in it this time. I wish Neal had clued me in on what topics were off limits with Henry. I was just trying to protect him."

Tricia eyed him sympathetically. "I'm sure he realizes that. This is an emotional time for him. He's blaming himself for being the cause of putting people he cares about in harm's way."

"Neal's so much more on edge now than he was during the op to take down Klaus Mansfeld. I'm sure you noticed it."

Tricia nodded. "I did. But with Mansfeld, there were no innocents involved. We know Neal is reckless when it comes to his own safety, but it's almost like he overcompensates when others are threatened."

"If canceling the op would remove Keller from the scene, I'd do it in a heartbeat, but based on his history, that will simply incite him more and we would have lost any leverage we may have."

"I'm sure Neal will understand your motives, but go easy on him." She looked at her watch. "I'm sorry but I have another meeting to attend. You'll keep me informed, right?"

After she left, Peter looked for Neal but he wasn't in the bullpen or in his niche in the lab, so he texted him to come see him in his office. Neal knocked on his door about ten minutes later. When he entered, he remained standing by the closed door. "Keller wants me to meet him at the Campbell Apartment—that's the bar at Grand Central Station—at one o'clock."

"Good. That gives us enough time to get people in place. I'll have Travis set up surveillance equipment. We can put a tail on him."

"This guy can vanish better than anyone I know—maybe better than me—so don't be surprised if nothing comes of it," Neal warned. "I'll record the conversation on my watch, and that may be the best we can do.

Peter took a slow breath. "About Henry . . . I didn't realize you hadn't told him about Keller. I'm sorry that I caught you off guard, but it doesn't do any harm to see if there are any records of Keller in Argentina."

"I understand why you told him, but that's not the way I was hoping to handle it. If you'd just given me a heads up . . ."

"How was I to know? I assumed Henry knew all about Keller. You two engage in twin-speak."

"Not about everything, Peter."

"But he was going to find out anyway, wasn't he? You told Angela and she'll probably discuss it with him."

"Yeah, the train wreck was inevitable, I suppose."

"From my viewpoint, what I did was very similar to what you did last summer. You told me about Urban Legend in order to protect Henry. I told Henry about Keller to protect you."

Neal considered his remarks for a long moment. "I see your point. Don't worry about it. I'll talk with him and explain. It's my problem now, not yours."

After one misunderstanding, Peter didn't want to take any chances on a second one. "You should know I also told Jones to check into any possible transactions between Keller and Fowler."

He smiled wryly. "I'd expect no less." He placed his hand on the door knob to leave, then stopped and turned back. "It just struck me . . . there may be something to a connection between Keller and Adler. The bar Keller wants me to meet him at? It was one of Adler's favorite watering holes. It could mean nothing, but if you're interested in conspiracy theories, there's an additional nugget for you."

 **Weatherby's Auction House. February 16, 2005. Wednesday morning.**

Her meeting wrapped up, Sara headed to the office that had been temporarily assigned to her at Weatherby's. She could have set up a temporary office at Sterling-Bosch instead but given the frequency of meetings being scheduled, when Weatherby's offered her the use of an office, she grabbed it. Sara was working with Fiona to prepare documentation on the methods and fees charged by other galleries and insurance companies for appraisals and authentication. Sterling-Bosch was taking the review as an opportunity to revise their own methods of insuring fine art.

Fiona's skills were proving an invaluable asset for the project. The woman was a fiend for lists. She was in charge of the database and had prepared a timeline which was staggering in its details and complexity. They made a good combination. Sara did the scrounging and investigative work, and Fiona was her Watson. Some at Weatherby's even called them Holmes and Watson. She and Fiona had both been amused by the comparison. She personally liked to think she was closer to Emma Peel of _The Avengers_ than Sherlock Holmes.

She'd just settled down to schedule an appointment with Aetna, when Fiona walked in with a stack of folders. "This is the background information Weatherby's has on Christie's auction house."

Sara looked at the discouragingly large stack with dismay. "They're not electronic? Not searchable?"

"Sorry. Our filing system is almost as much an antique as our auction items. I'll help you sort through them in the afternoon." Fiona paused. "Do you have plans for lunch?"

"I hadn't thought about it. Would you like to go someplace together?"

"If you don't mind."

"Not at all. This call to Aetna won't take long and then we can leave."

"Sounds good." Fiona got up to leave. She started to say something, then stopped and gave a brief apologetic smile.

"Is there something else?" Sara asked, puzzled.

Fiona hesitated then nodded. "If you're going to have lunch with me, you should know too." She closed the door and then sat back down. As she related what Neal had told her the previous evening, her expression grew more worried. "This is Keller's photo. From what Neal said it's possible he may approach me when we're out."

Matthew Keller was not anyone Sara had heard of, but he must be a nasty character for Neal to warn Fiona about him. Fiona was nervously twirling a strand of hair behind her ear. "I can't stop thinking about this creep and what kind of work Neal may be doing for him," she confessed. "It has to be dangerous. Neal said that I'd be safe because he's cooperating, but what's he cooperating on? I know he can't tell me much about it, but are his efforts to protect me exposing him to even greater risk?"

Sara hesitated on how to answer. Fiona could be right in her assessment, but that was the last thing she needed to hear right now.

Fiona drew a breath. "Would you mind talking with him? You could reassure him that I'm taking precautions. Since you're a professional investigator, it may be easier for him to discuss the case with you."

Sara mulled over her request. She'd wanted to review the status of the Corot forgery case anyway. She'd originally planned to call Peter, but she could go to the office in person instead. "I can see why you'd like to know. I'm not as confident as you are that Neal will be more open with me, but I can try."

"Thanks," she said gratefully. "I owe you one. Do you have any plans for Saturday?"

"Nothing in particular. Would you like to do something together?"

"Neal and I were planning to go to the _Love Letters from a Pharaoh_ exhibition at the Met. I already have the tickets and it'd be a shame to let them go to waste. Would you like to go? You could compare King Tut and Bryan's wooing techniques."

Sara laughed and agreed readily. They decided to make a day of it, combining the museum with shopping and a lunch out.

After Fiona left, Sara pondered how best to handle it. Bryan had warned her against being seen with Neal, saying that his criminal background could cast a shadow on her own reputation. To be safe, she should talk with Neal at the Bureau. She had every reason to visit White Collar. She was still the liaison for the Corot forgery. Besides, she'd like to know what happened with Rinaldi. Did he ever confess? It had been frustrating not to hear about the case's status. Sara reached for the phone to call Peter.

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Neal considered calling Henry from the Bureau, but then decided to hold off till the evening. If he called right away, it would only serve to shine the spotlight even more on Keller. By playing it nonchalant, he hoped to keep it from becoming an issue. He had enough to deal with in keeping Fiona and Angela safe. At least they listened to his warnings. He'd never had any luck in bossing Henry around.

At one o'clock Neal walked into the bar Keller had selected. The Campbell Apartment in Grand Central Station used to be the private office of a tycoon in the 1920s. It was quiet at that hour with few commuters. Neal was no stranger to the place, having met Adler there several times. The ornate mahogany furnishings and luxurious appointments of the bar reminded Neal of Adler's own office. The tycoon's massive safe sitting in the fireplace of the bar seemed symbolic of Adler's own wealth.

Did Keller know of Adler's fondness for the place? There were so many gaps in Neal's knowledge about Adler's business dealings? Had he ever worked with Keller? Peter was right to investigate a possible connection. For now, though, Neal banished thoughts of Adler from his mind. Keller was already there waiting for him, and he couldn't afford to be distracted.

Keller had selected a booth in the corner. The drinks were already on the table—single-malt Scotch for Keller, vodka martini for Neal. Just like old times.

As Neal slid into the booth next to him, Keller handed him his drink. "So, Caff, you ready to hook up again?"

"Maybe. What do you have in mind?"

"I've been working in the Middle East recently. Some of the collectors there have expensive tastes. It's a sweet gig."

"I bet." Finding a buyer for stolen antiquities could be a difficult challenge and the money received usually was only a small fraction of its worth. If Keller had set himself up as an agent for wealthy individuals, his potential payout could be enormous.

"One of my buyers fancies Egyptian trinkets. Like Tut's mirror on exhibit at the Met, for instance."

So that was his prize. Brazen, dramatic, the sort of target the Neal Caffrey of old would have relished. Neal smiled. "How much does your customer fancy it?"

"Two hundred grand. That's your share. Can you do it?"

Neal shrugged. "It could be arranged. Who else do you have working for you?"

"No one. It'd be just you and me."

"You mean like on the Riviera, when I did all the work and shouldered all the risk?"

"Hey, I was there for you, providing backup and the buyers. That time in Cannes at the hotel? I saved you. We were a team, Caff. I heard you took a bath with Adler. You could use an infusion of funds. I can supply the buyers. This mirror is just the beginning."

"Make it five hundred and I'll consider it. I won't deny that's why I'm working the Columbia cover. The kind of access I've acquired to New York museums is unparalleled." Neal proceeded to lay it on thick about the inside connections he had to museums, giving no specifics, but hinting of future jobs.

"Bragging, are you? Maybe you earned the right, maybe not. But here's the thing. I'm still not convinced my old pal isn't trying to pull one over on me."

"No more than you would on me."

Keller smirked as he took a swig of his drink. "We're two of a kind. I could have gone to someone else, but that's why I decided to look you up again. This will be fun. But there's something I want first. As a sign of good faith, I'd like a ring."

Neal sat back and regarded him skeptically. "You want me to get you an engagement ring?"

"In a manner of speaking."

* * *

 ** _Notes_** : _Find out just what kind of ring Keller has in mind next week. Also on tap in Chapter 6: Reflection in a Mirror, Neal will have a talk with Henry about Keller and a friendly face from Neal's past will make an appearance._

 _I've pinned the chess painting by Marcel Duchamp which Neal references to The Mirror board of our Caffrey Conversation Pinterest site. Duchamp's most famous work was Nude Descending a Staircase. He only turned to chess after having been established as an artist, but his talent at the game was formidable. He represented France in the 1933 Chess Olympiad. In addition to chess and painting, there is another link between Duchamp and Neal as Duchamp also loved New York City. He moved there from Paris in the 1940s._

 _Thanks to Penna Nomen for suggesting Neal talk with June. For those of you who like Easter eggs, I added a nod to the Season 1 finale, "Out of the Box." In that episode, June tells Neal he's one in a million and not to forget it. Here, Neal returns the compliment. Thanks also to Penna for having had the foresight to create Tricia Wiese, a strong female agent who balances Peter's role at the FBI. Since she has children of her own, she's also well equipped to provide guidance for the two "bad boys" of our AU—Neal and Henry._

 _The Campbell Apartment at Grand Central where Neal meets Keller has quite a history which I thought would particularly appeal to someone like Adler. I've written about it for our blog. Penna wrote a fascinating post about the origins of Neal's grandparents._

 ** _Blog_** _: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation_ _  
 **Chapter Visuals and Music** : The Mirror board on the Caffrey Conversation Pinterest website_


	6. Reflection in a Mirror

**Chapter 6: Reflection in a Mirror**

 **Federal Building. February 16, 2005. Wednesday afternoon.**

"Who's Raquel LaRoque?"

A natural question, Peter thought as he sat back and prepared to be regaled. Neal had sauntered into his office to report on what happened during his meeting with Keller while Travis downloaded the recording from his watch. Not wanting to wait, Neal was giving Peter a dramatic rendition, even imitating Keller's sneers and raspy whine.

After a rocky start to the day when Neal had, in Peter's view, overreacted to Henry finding out about Keller, Peter was pleased to see the transformation. Neal had once more shapeshifted into his con artist persona—flippant and brash. Even though Peter knew he was simply playing a role, he welcomed the change. It took the pressure off him too. As long as Neal could maintain it, the probability of success skyrocketed in their favor.

"Raquel's an Egyptologist, an adventurer." He paused for a moment to eye Peter. "You might call her a fence, but I don't view her that way. I met her in Berlin."

Peter suppressed the groan in the making. "How familiar are the two of you?"

"We met through a mutual interest in papyrus scrolls. It's been almost three years since I saw her. Keller said she arrived in New York last night. That's why he was waiting to fill me in."

"Were you two an item?"

Neal shook his head regretfully. "Never got that far along. We flirted. She thought I was a little young. She might not think so now."

"So if I'm following you correctly, not only does Keller want you to steal a priceless artifact from the Met, but he also wants you to steal a ring from an acquaintance of yours."

"Her name's Raquel and it's not just any ring," Neal corrected. "A green jasper and gold finger ring inscribed with the image of Ptah. Keller showed me photos of it. It's from the Late Period—I'd place it in the Twenty-Sixth Dynasty. The stone swivels so that either side can be displayed. On the back side is the name of Amun-Re. Ptah in Ancient Egypt was the god of creation and of craftsmen. Wouldn't be a bad god for me."

Peter held up a hand. "Hold off on the history lesson for now. Do you have the photos?"

"No, Keller's not dumb enough to give them to me. He'd suspect I'd try to forge it, and he's right. That's exactly what I plan to do. I'm going to convince Raquel to let me examine and photograph the ring. Then I'll prepare a forgery for Keller."

"Why on God's earth would Keller think you'd first steal the ring from Raquel, hand it over to him and then turn around and rob the Met for him? If you went to the trouble of stealing them, wouldn't he expect you to sell them yourself?"

Neal shrugged. "Demanding a preliminary score is not that unusual for someone like him, and the fees he's agreed to pay me are extravagant sums of money by black market standards. Keller has a ready buyer and for a famous item such as the mirror, that can be difficult to find. He's offered two hundred grand for the ring and a cool million for the mirror. That's much more than I could expect to obtain if I fenced them on my own." Neal rested the side of his head on his propped up arm. "I'd love to know who Keller's buyer is."

"Has he told you anything about the buyer?"

"Only that he's from the Middle East. Keller's too smart to reveal his identity. I could cut him out of the loop and make my own deal."

"How are you going to find Raquel?"

"I'm familiar with some of her contacts and Mozzie knows even more."

"Is the ring stolen?"

Neal sat back, a grin on his face. "Define stolen."

"Don't play word games with me," Peter warned. He was trying to cut him some slack, but Neal the con artist was much more slippery than Neal the art authenticator.

Neal shrugged impatiently. "Raquel may, and I emphasize _may_ , be a fence, but she doesn't steal artifacts. I'll grant you, however, that some of her acquisitions could be from grave robbers and thieves."

"Write down the ring description. I'll give it to Jones to research. If it's on the stolen item database, we'll need to work up a different plan.

"In the meantime can I at least meet with her?"

Peter rubbed his forehead, realizing that he'd probably develop a callous from all the rubbing he'd be doing during the Keller op, and reluctantly agreed to a compromise. "You can find out where you can meet her and then we'll discuss."

After Neal left, Peter resumed his review of the research materials on Keller that Jones had prepared. The man had a long list of suspected crimes, but he'd never been caught. From what Neal said, he was also an expert manipulator. Bringing him to justice would be quite a coup, but figuring out how would be a major challenge.

His reading was interrupted by the ring of his phone. Peter was surprised that the caller was Sara. The last time they'd talked had been a few days before the team left for the ski resort to take down Rinaldi. Since Sara was the Sterling-Bosch liaison for the Corot forgery, it was natural for her to call him but in light of the investigation currently going on into a mole the mole for Ydrus, he would have to play it carefully.

At the conclusion of the call, Peter went downstairs to see Neal. He found him working at his desk in the bullpen. Peter pulled up a chair and sat across from him. "Any luck finding Raquel?"

"Not yet. Mozzie's still checking. I don't have her cell number anymore but he knows some people who do."

"I just got a call from Sara. She wants to come in tomorrow afternoon for an update on the Corot case."

Neal raised a brow. "Really? Fiona told me she was in town. Isn't it about time for us to interview her instead? She may have unknowingly told the mole at Sterling-Bosch about us, if one exists. Have you heard anything more from Bosch on the case?"

"No, and until their investigation is concluded, we shouldn't talk to her about what happened. For now, no mention of Ydrus."

Neal nodded agreement. Peter knew it rankled to have to treat Sara as a suspect. He also agreed it was unlikely she was a culprit. He glanced over at Neal's computer monitor and saw that it displayed a large floorplan of the Met. "You working on your heist?"

Neal flashed him a grin. "Before I came to White Collar, I bet you didn't get to ask that question much in the bullpen. That's right, Peter. I'm planning to rob one of the world's foremost museums and you've given me the green light."

Peter played along with Neal's mood, giving him the expected eye roll. "You've already got something in mind, haven't you?"

"I do. I plan to take advantage of not having any classes and finish it at home this evening."

"Think you'll be ready to discuss it tomorrow morning?"

Neal nodded.

Normally designing an op would be a team effort, but this time he was letting him work on it solo. Neal knew how Keller worked, how he thought. In this case, it was going to take a thief to con a thief.

 **Neal's Loft. February 16, 2005. Wednesday evening.**

Originally Neal had planned to work on his paintings for the exhibition after work, but they'd have to wait. On the subway ride home he teased out his concept. He didn't see Keller following him, but wouldn't have been surprised if he were. Let him. He wasn't worried. There was no denying Neal was elated at the target Keller had selected. The audacity of his proposal was irresistible and Keller knew it.

As expected, June was out when he arrived home. She'd mentioned she was attending a fundraising gala. Last month, June had joined the board of directors for the National Jazz Museum in Harlem, an organization dear to both her and Byron.

He bounded up the stairs to the loft. The door was closed but the light was on. Mozzie must have already arrived. He said he'd supply the takeout. Traditionally Mozzie preferred Chinese for heist-planning. He claimed it helped establish a psychic link with Sun Zi. Mozzie was fond of quoting from _The Art of War_ by the Chinese military strategist as he formulated his own art of the heist.

"You're in a good mood," he commented as Neal shrugged off his coat.

"Taking down Keller at the Met? You got that straight." Neal joined him at the dining table. Mozzie had already laid out the takeout containers and wine, and Neal helped himself to a glass. "Any luck getting a number for Raquel?"

He nodded as he passed a pair of chopsticks to Neal. "Hale had it. He said she was in town for the exhibitions—not just the Met's, but also the one being held at the Morgan Library and Museum."

"I thought so. Raquel couldn't resist an exhibit on Egyptian love poetry. It's the first time to my knowledge both the Chester Beatty and the Harris papyrus collections are being displayed together. I went to the exhibit two weeks ago and it reminded me of her at the time."

"You think you'll have any problem getting her to agree?"

"We hit it off well before. How much could things change?" Neal helped himself to Sichuan shrimp. "I'm looking forward to making the ring. It shouldn't take too long. Peter will let me work on it full time, I'm sure, then it's on to robbing the Met."

Mozzie walked over to the bookcase. "I'll get out the _Monopol_ y board. We can strategize while we eat."

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

The takeout containers had been scraped bare, the _Monopoly_ board had been put away, and they were enjoying the last of the wine. Neal was pleasantly surprised how well Mozzie's wine, Pele's Nectar, had gone with Chinese food. A new marketing opportunity?

"You're right," Mozzie said. "The slight hint of sweetness balances the saltiness of the cuisine to perfection. It's a shame I hadn't realized about it in time for Chinese New Year. I'll start planning ahead for 2006." He glanced over at Neal. "How'd it go with Fiona?"

Neal shrugged. "Awkward. It didn't even make that much sense to me as I was explaining it. She must wonder how I know him."

"You could tell her."

"That I used to be a thief and worked for him?" Neal shook his head. "That's not happening."

"Now you begin to understand why romantic entanglements are not for us, _mon frère_. They place far too many restrictions on us. I could tell how excited you were about robbing the Met and working with Raquel. Then the minute I mention Fiona, you become morose and depressed." Mozzie shifted into his love guru persona as he yet again lectured on the need to stay free and unencumbered. "You have to put Fiona out of your mind. She'll make you lose your focus and that could be dangerous. What we've planned is not without risk."

"You sound just like Klaus," Neal complained. "Never fall in love—that was his advice. Chantal grew to realize how he felt. That's why she left him."

"The Leopard had it right. He was so successful because he maintained his focus."

Neal didn't like where Mozzie was heading. "Are you telling me we have to be loners all our lives? Could you cast Janet off by snapping your fingers?"

"When the time comes . . . if necessary." But even to Mozzie that sounded indecisive. Grumbling, he drained the last of the wine.

By unspoken agreement, they put aside affairs of the heart in favor of affairs of the museum. It made Neal realize how much he'd missed planning a heist. Now he could experience the high and not have to worry about being arrested. Mozzie had several creative ideas to consider, any one of which would have caused Peter to vent smoke out of his ears. Good thing the loft wasn't bugged.

After Mozzie left, Neal pulled out a textbook and flopped on the couch. He wasn't going to have much of a chance to work on his courses until the job was over. A week like this made it abundantly clear how difficult it would be to pursue a PhD. He almost wished his application would be rejected. Simply going for the master's was enough torture. How much difference would it make to the Bureau whether or not he had a doctorate? Kramer wouldn't want to give up any of his budget for a regional art crimes office no matter how much skill Neal demonstrated. The obvious solution if he wanted to work on art was to transfer to D.C. Art Crimes, but the more he heard about Kramer, the less he liked him. He could apply to a museum or insurance company to be an authenticator, but they'd probably require a doctorate, which got him back to his original dilemma.

The ringing of his cell phone interrupted his musings. Glancing at the display, he realized with a start he'd forgotten to call Henry. Neal answered the phone, swinging his legs off the couch and sitting upright.

"Hey, kiddo. I thought you'd call me."

"Sorry, I was planning to and lost track of time. Mozzie was here. We were discussing business."

"Does that business include Keller?"

"His name came up," Neal admitted. He'd sorted out what to tell Henry on the subway ride home. He was living a fantasy where as long as Henry didn't know about Keller, Neal could act as if Keller had never happened. But once Keller showed up in New York, there could be no more hiding from the truth. It was time. Peter did him a favor.

Henry was pressing his advantage. "I read the file Peter sent. Is Keller the reason you've never wanted to talk about your years in Europe?"

"He's a big part of it." Neal took a deep breath. "Among the things I've done in my life that I'm not proud of, working with him is at the top of the list. When I fled to Europe, I hooked up with Keller and was on his crew for several jobs. I'll spare you the details but he gave me a crash course in grand theft with Europe and Asia serving as our playground."

Henry was silent for a moment. When he came back on, Neal could tell he was trying to keep his voice calm. "How long did you work for him?"

"Off and on for close to two years. I gradually discovered what a lowlife he is and refused to work for him anymore. Then in New York he approached me when I was working with Adler and I turned him down."

"Care to explain why you felt the need to hide this from me?"

"It's humbling that I didn't see through him earlier. I thought I could read people better than that. The signs were there, but I was ignoring them."

"Hey, this is me, kiddo. You may be able to get Peter to believe that, but not me. Want to try again?"

Neal was silent, brushing back his hair with one hand. He was glad Henry couldn't see the sign of his frustration.

"You knew what he was like, didn't you? Do you want me to spell it out for you?"

"What? That I looked at him and saw me? You happy now? I was convinced I was a criminal and my goal was to perfect my ability. Keller was a great teacher." Neal stopped short, dismayed at what he'd admitted. He was within a hair's breadth of slamming the phone down and bolting out of the room.

But Henry wasn't letting him. "And whose fault was that? It was my father who made you feel that way. Robert was the one who branded you a criminal. You were just a mixed-up kid. You didn't know who you were."

"Correction. I was an adult. I knew what I was doing."

"You were hurt and hell-bent to self-destruct. Sounds like with Keller you found the ideal vehicle. It's a wonder you survived. And none of this you wanted to bring up because you were afraid I'd feel guilty about what happened. Am I wrong?"

Neal hesitated. He hadn't intended to go into that, but he should have expected that Henry would go there.

"I'm going to take that for an acknowledgment." Henry quieted his own voice. "You have to stop blaming yourself. You don't think you're like him now, do you?"

"God, no."

"I have to admit, hearing about Keller doesn't make me feel good about what went on. But you keeping me locked out hasn't been the greatest feeling either. My imagination can paint a much darker picture than hopefully what your reality was. I know—something you made abundantly clear on this morning's call—that this wasn't your preferred way to tell me, but thank you. It actually makes it easier for me."

Neal sought to ease his way out of the topic. "Guess we're two of a kind—keeping each other in the dark. You think we'll ever change?"

"I'm game to try. How about you?"

"In theory, sure, but honestly? We're still going to try to shield each other, and that may mean secrets."

"I appreciate your candor. Is there anything I can do to help?"

"You already are with the facial recognition software. I still think it's unlikely that Keller is working for Adler, but it can't be ruled out at this point."

"Keller's already added to the list. Anything else?"

"One thing. You gotta promise not to get involved with Keller. No going lone wolf like you did with Fowler. It's bad enough I have to worry about Angela and Fiona. If I thought you were getting mixed up in—"

He jumped in before Neal finished. "I get the message, and you have my word. I won't charge up to New York and take him on personally, like I want to. But in return I'd like to ask a favor."

"What's that?"

"Don't beat yourself up over hanging out with Keller. Blame Robert, not yourself, for what happened. Trust me, carrying a duffle bag filled with guilt around with you is not the way to live. Speaking as an expert, it doesn't work." Henry paused for a moment. "And keep in mind what you said—about us howling at the moon together. You feel the need to howl, you give me a call, okay?"

"Thanks, bro." He was going to take a leap of faith and trust Henry meant what he said.

Henry was silent for a moment before coming back on. "Just remember, brothers can talk about anything with each other. You don't need to conceal this stuff, and don't even think about trying to con me about it."

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

When Peter arrived at work on Thursday morning, Neal was already preparing for his presentation in the conference room. Peter stopped off in his office first to hang up his coat. Yesterday, Neal had been in the wind with his personality shifts, swinging from stressed to exuberant. Which one would be on display today?

When he entered the conference room, Neal gave him a broad smile. "Feeling rested? Ready to plan a heist?"

So it was the cocky con artist that was front and center. Did that mean the talk with Henry had gone well? Peter decided not to broach that sensitive topic and instead played along. "It's called a sting, not a heist, and you don't need to look so happy about it."

"No, in this case we really are planning a heist." Neal had detailed floorplans of the Met on the table and had hooked up his laptop to project photos on the screen monitor. "The trick is to make Keller get his hands dirty, right? In order for that to happen, I have to make the bait so enticing he won't be able to resist. What I'm going to propose is that we should take advantage of the opportunity to not just steal the mirror from the exhibit but also the jewelry, the golden shrine and the ivory-paneled chest as well. A two-man job is required to carry off so much treasure. Keller will have to go in with me."

Peter nodded judiciously. "And while you're at it, how about tossing in a couple of Rembrandts and perhaps a Monet. Could you manage a Matisse as well?"

"Sarcasm's not helpful, you know."

Peter held up a placating hand. "All right, I told you I'd listen … for now. How do you propose pulling off the theft of the century?"

"I'm not going to. The objects won't leave their cases. They're much too fragile to be exposed to any risk. Keller and I will meet at the museum. I'll lead him to a storeroom where I will have already stashed my equipment. We'll change into maintenance worker uniforms, and I'll tell Keller we'll carry off the loot in custodial cleaning carts."

"How will you accomplish that?"

"I'll obtain permission from the Met, of course."

Peter couldn't stifle a snort at his overconfidence. "I have to be there when you convince them of that."

"You will be," Neal said calmly, completely dismissive of the audacity it would take to persuade the Met. "To sell the con to Keller, I'm going to enlist the help of Azathoth."

"This gets better and better."

"We might as well take advantage of his malware. I'll tell Keller I'm using it to infect the Met's security software. Besides, I'm curious to find out what Keller knows about the malware. Has he used it himself?"

"I'd like to know that too," Peter said thoughtfully.

"I figure once I supply Keller with the ring, we'll be pals again. Then I can try to find out what, if anything, he knows about Azathoth, Ydrus, and Adler. When we start to disable the security on the display cases, you swarm in and arrest us. Simple."

Peter had heard broad overviews before but the Baryshnikov leaps Neal was making set a new standard. Where were the specifics? When was the discussion of the ten thousand moving parts going to take place? What Neal was presenting was a sticky note with a few scrawls. Peter wanted the two-hundred-page manual. He made a mental note to sign Neal up for an intensive course in project management as soon as this case was completed. For now, he'd limit himself to only a few of the challenges ahead. "What about the hurdle with the Met? How do you propose to get their agreement? You're asking them to allow the two of you to hide in the museum and give us permission to conduct a sting around priceless artworks. Won't they be concerned Keller could, for instance, double-cross us and make off with the treasure?"

"We should be able to persuade them. I got a plan for that too."

"Care to enlighten me?"

"We've built up good will and a measure of trust with them from the case in the fall when we kept Klaus from stealing Vermeer's _Woman in Blue_. That has to count for something. Do you remember Martine Giron, my Egyptian art professor last fall?"

"Yeah, both she and Sherkov facilitated our meetings during your classes when you were undercover."

"Giron is also an associate curator for Egyptian art at the Met. Sherkov is well aware of our work, having helped us on two previous cases. Although he doesn't work for the Met, he's close friends with their Curator for European Paintings and Sculpture. Sherkov and Giron can act as facilitators with the Met."

"Set up a meeting with them, preferably here." Peter pulled up the calendar on his laptop to check his schedule. "Don't forget to block out Friday. That's the day Hobhouse from Interpol will be in town. He hasn't given me a time yet so you need to keep yourself available all day." That didn't provoke the reaction he'd expected. Neal nodded, but he seemed more interested in checking his watch. "Were you able to reach Raquel?"

That brought a smile. "I left her a message to meet me at the Morgan Library and Museum. It's currently exhibiting a collection of Egyptian papyrus manuscripts."

"You'll record the conversation, right?"

"Of course."

"Should we have support people in place?"

"Not for this, Peter."

"I've been reviewing her profile. Interpol has her on the watch list, you know."

"But she's never been charged with anything, correct?"

"Not so far. Interesting career choice. She specializes in high-end reproductions of ancient jewelry which she sells through boutiques in Europe. No association with any museums or universities although she has a doctorate in Egyptology. What does that tell me?"

Neal looked impatient. "It tells me she couldn't find a job as an Egyptologist. Last semester Columbia held a panel discussion with the art history professors about career opportunities. The discussion could be boiled down to two words— _pathetically few_. As I recall, Giron said the number of Egyptology programs in the Western hemisphere is less than ten. She has colleagues with PhDs who work as baristas. Raquel prefers working with jewelry to being a waitress. I don't see any red flags."

Peter pointed his finger at him. "You like her, don't you?"

"Sure, what's not to like? Have you seen her photo?"

Peter glanced down at his file. Raquel was thirty-three. The woman gazing at him in the photo had long black hair with smoky eyes. She looked sophisticated and expensive. No wonder Neal was eager to renew his acquaintance with her.

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Midmorning Neal left White Collar for his appointment with Raquel. He took a taxi to the museum, located on East Thirty-sixth Street—no one who conducted business with Raquel LaRoque took the subway—and at eleven o'clock strolled through the modern entrance into the ornate brownstone mansion. The exhibit was located not in one of the side galleries but in the crown jewel of the museum—the library.

He paused when he entered to take in the beauty of the chamber—the dome ceiling with murals based on the sixteenth century Villa Farnesina in Rome, the tapestry from the same period, the grand carved fireplace, and the three tiers of carved walnut bookcases. You could easily believe you were in Florence at the villa of a Medici prince. And there, in the center of the library, was a woman studying the papyrus collection in the display case. The suit looked Italian, perhaps Armani. She wore a broad-brimmed black hat with it, her long hair falling in cascades down her back.

Neal walked up to her from behind and murmured in her ear, "'I wish I were your mirror so that you always looked at me.' "

She slanted her head and without turning around, added, "'I wish I were your garment so that you would always wear me.' Love Poetry from the New Kingdom. The Ancient Egyptians knew how to phrase it best." She turned around to sweep him with her eyes and flashed an intoxicating smile. "Look at you! All grown up. New York must suit you."

"You haven't changed at all, except to become more irresistible."

"Flatterer," she purred with half-closed lids. "When was the last time? Berlin?"

Neal nodded. "The gold statue of Horus."

"You were with Klaus. Such a shame what happened to him. I was in mourning for a month."

"As was I." The last time Neal saw Raquel had been shortly before the disastrous Berlin job when Klaus killed the guard. Raquel probably knew nothing about Klaus's ruthlessness. Whenever Klaus was with her, he would have been at his charming best. Just like he was with Neal—the smooth and polished man who had seized the role of older brother and whose knowledge of art and culture had been much more extensive than his own. "I hear you live in Venice now."

She nodded. "I find it convenient. The location makes an ideal setting for my boutique."

Neal took his time, strolling through the exhibit with her. Afterward he invited her to join him in the atrium café at the Morgan Library. As Raquel took a seat in one of the wicker-accented chairs at a small café table, she surveyed the glass-enclosed court with appreciation. "Alfresco dining in February—I like it." She switched her gaze to him. "Europe misses you."

"I'll return someday. For now New York is an enticing locale."

"What have you been up to?"

"I finally took your advice and decided pursuing a degree was worth the time commitment. I'm in the graduate program of art at Columbia."

"Neal, I'm delighted." He wasn't surprised. Raquel had encouraged him almost as much as Klaus to go back to school. "Are you going for a doctorate?"

"I hope to. I'm currently in the master's program for art history and visual arts and have applied to transfer into the PhD program. My advisor offered to sponsor my candidature."

"Visual Arts?" She smiled. "Are you going to stop forging others and exhibit your own works? Or perhaps that will only be your cover? Either way I find you more captivating than ever."

Neal didn't rush to broach the real purpose of the meeting but directed the conversation around her jewelry business and her life in Venice. The more intrigued he could make her, the better.

Finally she said, "I've enjoyed our chat, but I suspect you didn't arrange this simply to catch up."

"Keller paid me a visit."

"Did he?" A shadow crossed over her face. Raquel was no fan of Keller. He'd cheated her out of an amulet from the Eighteenth Dynasty back in 2001, and she'd never forgiven him. "What's he doing in New York? Who is he trying to coerce now?"

"Me."

She arched her delicately shaped brows at him. "Neal, my love. What did you do to provoke him?"

He shrugged. "Nothing. He appreciates my talents."

She reached over and stroked his cheek. "Don't tell me he wants you to forge a papyrus? Does he know about the Papyrus Seven Scrolls?"

Neal smiled and shook his head. "That remains our secret. No, he requested I steal a ring from you."

"How ungentlemanly of him. But that's Keller for you. The man's a barbarian."

"Exactly. I'd like to have your help in blowing a little sand in his face."

"What do you have in mind?"

"He desires a ring—green jasper and gold, reversible stone, inscribed with Ptah, Twenty-sixth Dynasty. Sound familiar?"

Raquel took a sip of espresso. "Vaguely. I may have seen something resembling it."

"Any chance you'd let me photograph it?"

"So you could make a forgery? Sorry, my love, but that wouldn't be very bright of me. You could sell it as the original and deprive me of my profit."

Neal had expected that. She'd consider every angle. "What if I gave you the ring afterwards? Then you'd have two. Double the profit."

Raquel hesitated and gazed into the atrium garden while she fingered her espresso cup. "An attractive offer, but I'd have no assurance other than the charming smile on your face that you'd live up to your side of the bargain. No, I'll let you photograph the ring and you can even keep your copy . . ." She paused but Neal knew she wasn't done. Raquel wasn't going to let him escape that easily. "However, it seems only fair that in return for my assistance, you should help me."

"With anything in particular?"

"Oh yes." Raquel reached into her purse and pulled out her cell phone. She scrolled through photos then passed it to Neal.

The image was of a bronze cat. "Very nice. Representation of the goddess Bastet. Gold rings, a silver protective amulet—it's one of the best I've seen. Twenty-second Dynasty?"

"That's right." Raquel nodded, pleased. "From Saqqara. It was one of the prize pieces of my collection."

"Was? Did the cat wander off?"

"Not of its own accord. It was stolen from me, and I want it back. That's why I'm in town."

"Have you reported your loss?"

She clucked her tongue reprovingly. "Why would I do something as rash as that? Messy details about provenance and how I acquired it. No, the police can't be involved. I've been able to trace the catnapper to New York. Do you happen to know of any cat burglars who could help me?" She leaned toward him. "I'd be extremely grateful."

"I may know of someone. What can you tell me about the perpetrator of such a dastardly act?"

"There's a new player on the scene. Have you heard of a group called Ydrus?"

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

"The robbery is connected with Ydrus?" Peter hadn't expected Neal to toss the criminal group into the increasingly complex stew he was making. It was no longer simply a question of a robbery but there were international ramifications.

Upon Neal's return from his appointment with Raquel, Peter gathered with Jones in the conference room to hear his report while Travis prepared the transcript of the recorded conversation.

"Right," Neal said. "Raquel told me the cat was stolen from her home in Venice two months ago. You should know that Raquel's contacts in Venice rivals Mozzie's in New York. She discovered that the theft had been ordered by a man who is rumored to be affiliated with Ydrus. Name of Karl Huber. Lives in Southampton, Long Island. She doesn't know much else about him, except that he's in Greece for two weeks. That's the real reason she's in town."

Jones was already researching Huber on his laptop. "I haven't heard of him," Peter said, "but I don't like this. Raquel's forcing you to steal an item—how do we know her story is even true? Is there any proof the item is actually hers? Maybe it legitimately belongs to the man and she's asking you to steal what is rightfully his property? And you only have her word that she'll let you photograph the ring afterwards? Neal, this stinks to high heaven."

"I'm not thrilled with it either," he said, "but what choice do I have? I'm not going to break into Raquel's suite to steal her ring. I know better than that. You don't want to have Raquel as your enemy. Her friends are too powerful and she's too useful. Klaus conducted business with her on numerous occasions. He felt her word was good. She's always treated me fairly. Raquel may be a fence, but she's an honorable one. Her reputation is solid."

Neal might be convinced but Peter was a long way from accepting it. His gut response was to call a halt before it went any further. They'd have to find another way to deal with Keller. "What would happen if you simply tell Keller it's not possible to steal the ring? It would show you're calling the shots. You're willing to walk away from the Met job. You don't need it."

Neal shook his head. "Keller won't accept it. It'll be a replay of what happened with Adler. Instead of Kate, he'd try to use Fiona or perhaps Angela as leverage. He might even threaten June. Keller will become even more dangerous and it will be that much harder to take him down."

Neal was right. If they didn't move forward, the nightmare scenario he described could become reality, but there was a worrisome overtone of strain in Neal's voice that Peter didn't like. Would he be able to pull it off? Ever since Neal first told him that Keller was in town, Peter had been struggling to get a handle on a situation over which he had perilously little control. The fault didn't lie with Neal—Peter knew he was doing his best to keep him informed—but up to now Keller had been in the driver's seat, and they'd been compelled to follow the route he was laying out. That needed to change.

Jones broke in. "Here's what I have so far on Huber. He's the owner of an ocean freight shipping company, Argos Shipping. Private company. He's been in business twenty-five years. No black marks on his record. No hint of anything improper."

"Go ahead and prepare a full profile on him," Peter ordered.

With a quick glance over at Neal, Jones gave Peter a nod and left the room. His nod had echoed Peter's own feelings. Jones was a sharp observer and he was also concerned. Peter stretched his arms and glanced at his watch. "Have you eaten yet?"

Startled, Neal shook his head.

"Me neither. Sara's not due for an hour. I'll order us up sandwiches. We can commandeer that conference room you're so fond of appropriating for your study sessions. You and me need to talk, and a little change of scenery will do us both good." Food was probably the last thing on Neal's mind but Peter was going to insist he take time out. Sara would be arriving in a little over an hour, and they needed to be on the same playing field before then.

* * *

 ** _Notes_** _: I posted this on the day after International Women's Day—a fitting time to add another woman, Raquel LaRoque, to the cast of Caffrey Conversation. Raquel appeared in the Season 3 episode "On the Fence," and I've written about her for our blog. _The lines of poetry she and Neal quote are from a love poem which has been given the title "The Flower Song." In case you'd like to read more of the poem, I placed a link to it in my blog post. Penna wrote about how she started Caffrey Conversation and how some of the ideas evolved. It's an illuminating account of how our 'verse began and I highly recommend it.__

 _If you'd like to see photos of the Morgan Library, Raquel, the ring she owns, and the cat she wants back, they're all on The Mirror Board our Caffrey Conversation Pinterest site._

 _Next week in Chapter 7: Spinning Plates, Sara visits White Collar and the mystery around the Braque painting deepens._

 _Many thanks to Penna for her beta assistance and thanks to you for reading and your comments!_

 ** _Blog_** _: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation_ _  
 **Chapter Visuals and Music** : The Mirror board on the Caffrey Conversation Pinterest website_


	7. Spinning Plates

**Chapter 7: Spinning Plates**

 **Federal Building. February 17, 2005. Thursday afternoon.**

"Croque-monsieurs? Peter, I'm impressed." Neal took the lid off the cup of French roast coffee and sniffed it appreciatively.

"Man doesn't live on deviled ham alone," Peter said complacently. He would rather have picked an offsite location for lunch but the topic was too confidential to be discussed outside the office. He'd compromised with one of the smaller conference rooms which had a different view from the standard room they used. Peter had overheard Neal recommend the French Café Gourmand down the street from the Federal Building, and just as important as the recommendation was the fact they delivered.

Having broken the ice, Peter waded into the turbulent waters of having Neal explain yet one more time why it was a wonderful idea for him to commit a burglary in the Hamptons. This week had steadily gone downhill ever since the first mention of Keller. That Neal would come back from a meeting with a suspected fence to now insist he needed to perform an additional heist was yet another example.

"It's all about exchanging favors," Neal explained airily, clearly still entrenched in his European personality. "Favors are one of the favorite—and most reliable— currencies in my old world. It's simply an extension of the Golden Rule."

Peter paused taking a bite of his sandwich to remark with admirable restraint. "That's putting an awfully high-minded spin on larceny."

"If it makes you feel better, call it a covert operation to uncover a possible agent of Ydrus. I'm acting as James Bond here, not James Bonds. We need Raquel's help to advance to the next step with Keller, so the decision's a simple one."

"But the execution isn't," Peter countered. "You're refusing any assistance from the team."

"This has to be off the books," he replied with a shrug. "You can't get a warrant on hearsay evidence from a woman you suspect of being a criminal."

"You realize if you're caught, you'll have no protection."

"I won't get caught. I'm going to ask Mozzie to case out the place. If Huber's away as Raquel believes, then it should be a simple operation. In and out. No one the wiser."

Neal projected such confidence, it was difficult not to go along, but Peter had one more card to play. "Use that chess brain to tell me what traps are lurking out there. And don't tell me you haven't thought about them."

Neal considered as he chewed his sandwich. Swallowing, he said, "It's conceivable Huber could come back early or someone would drop in, but Mozzie can serve as a lookout. The biggest concern is the time factor."

"Elaborate."

"Look at it from Keller's perspective. Yesterday he told me to steal Raquel's ring. He expects me to complete the job by Saturday at the latest, not pull off a heist on Long Island. Once I get the cat and return it to Raquel, I can start on the ring forgery but it's going to take a few days. Add to that, we haven't even talked to the Met yet. The earliest we'll be able to execute the sting is late next week. Keller's not a patient man." Neal picked up the remaining half of his sandwich and began breaking it into small pieces. "Will he think I need a little extra incentive? Will he make a play on Fiona?"

This morning Neal had been bouncing off the walls like a balloon. When he returned from the meeting with Raquel, his balloon had sprung a leak. And now Peter understood the cause. "Let's go with the worst case scenario. What if he does? You've already warned her. He got nowhere with Kate, after all." Neal looked up at him sharply, making Peter do a double take. "He got somewhere with her?"

"I don't know for sure," he admitted unhappily. "She'd never go into the specifics, but Keller gave me enough details to make me believe they probably did." He picked up one of the pieces and eyed it gloomily. "When Fiona and I started dating, we promised each other there'd be no strings, no drama. Now I'm hanging an evil eye around her neck."

"Fiona seems like a capable woman to me. Don't you think she could simply brush him off?"

"Maybe," he said, looked unconvinced, "but Keller doesn't give up easily. He could claim he and I are pals." Neal pushed his hands through his hair. "He could get to her by claiming he was trying to help me, invent lies I was in trouble, or tell her real stories about Europe. I don't know which would be worse."

"What about if you used Tiffany, the fake girlfriend you invented during the investment bank investigation?"

"I already did. Tried to get him to think that I was like him—that I was stringing several women along. I don't think he bought it."

"That's because you didn't show it. Tiffany needs to be real, not fake. Could you use Diana?"

Neal shook his head. "Keller's been tailing me. He knows where I work. He's undoubtedly seen me and Diana together and knows who she is." He propped his elbows on the table and cradled his chin in his hands. "I could spend more time with Raquel. It's the natural thing to do. Keller expects me to insinuate myself into Raquel's life and take advantage of our friendship. I should give him what he wants. Raquel will be happy to play along."

"There's your solution. Use it. Surely you can convince Keller you need more time to win Raquel over."

Neal nodded slowly. "Okay." He grinned with a trace of a mischievous glint in his eyes. "I could ask Peter Lamoureaux for tips. You had some slick moves at the resort."

"Hey, I got lessons from a master—you," Peter said, enjoying the change in attitude. "And as a token of appreciation, I'm going to give you a second bit of free advice. Sandwiches need to be consumed in order to do any good. You might give it a try. Chew, swallow, repeat, it's really not that difficult."

Rolling his eyes, Neal resumed eating. "Satisfied?"

"Yes, while you finish, I'll tell you about the phone call I had with Bosch."

Neal paused in mid-bite. "You've been holding out on me? What'd you find out?"

"Keep eating and I'll tell you. After all, you don't think I was twiddling my thumbs waiting for your return, I hope?"

"Never," Neal said between bites. "I'm chewing here. You gonna keep me in suspense?"

"The authenticator in Dijon who'd claimed the Corot forgery was genuine?"

"Yeah?"

"Yesterday he was murdered. Interpol suspects it was Ydrus."

Neal gave a low whistle.

"This reinforces our need to be discreet around Sara. If you talk with her, remember, no discussion of Ydrus."

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

It had been an odd, unsatisfying meeting. Sara exited Peter's office with little to show for it and more questions than answers.

The last time she'd been at the Bureau was a month ago when she was acting as Sterling-Bosch liaison on the Corot forgery case. Since then, she'd talked only once with Peter on the phone about the FBI's lead suspect, Max Rinaldi. It was puzzling not to be kept better informed, but since this was her first time to work with the FBI, she had nothing to compare it with. Perhaps this was standard procedure.

It had crossed her mind that Peter was waiting for her to approach him, but after sitting with him in his office today, she'd have to admit that wasn't the reason. He divulged next to nothing. Max Rinaldi was under arrest but refusing to answer questions. Artie Klossner, the man suspected of working on Rinaldi's behalf, was also not talking.

Sara hoped to discuss the death of the authenticator. She'd only found out about it this morning. It was understandable that Peter didn't know any more than she did, but still, it was frustrating. He appeared to be unusually vague in his comments.

When Bryan called her to relate the news, he said the French authorities were working with Interpol on possible mafia involvement. Sara tried to draw Peter out on his thoughts, but she got the distinct impression he was reluctant to discuss it.

The atmosphere today was so different from when she'd first been at White Collar to discuss the case. Then she'd been accepted as a member of their team. Now she felt uncomfortably like an outsider. Perhaps it was because Neal wasn't present at the meeting. When she asked about him, Peter said he was working on a project in the lab. Was that just a convenient excuse because he didn't trust Neal? As an investigator, she should be processing the signals he was sending her, not become depressed by them. It made her realize how much difficulty she still had in accepting the Neal she knew was the suspected criminal described in Interpol's files. It was time she faced up to reality.

At the conclusion of the meeting Peter escorted her downstairs. Such formality. It was like he didn't trust her either. When she mentioned wanting to speak with Neal, he led her to the lab as if she didn't know where it was. No, that wasn't right. Peter probably wanted to verify what Neal was up to. She hoped he wouldn't insist on staying during their conversation. How could she talk to him about Fiona in front of his boss? He'd never open up.

Neal was sitting in his niche. His drawing of Raphael's _Head of a Muse_ was still on his bulletin board. Would he be displaying that if he'd stolen the Raphael? Bryan would say that was exactly the sort of flippant gesture a master con artist would make. She hadn't mentioned the drawing to Bryan but she should. Recovering stolen property was her job. She shouldn't let personal feelings interfere. The situation she found herself in made her wonder if this was the right career choice.

Mercifully, Peter said goodbye at the entrance to the lab as Neal walked up to greet her.

"Do you have time to talk?" she asked.

"Sure." Neal gestured to his niche. "I'll grab a chair."

The lab was filled with people, and Travis was at his desk next to Neal's. How much did he know about what Neal was working on or about Fiona? "I was hoping we could talk somewhere more private."

Neal shot her a questioning look but didn't ask why. "We could use one of the conference rooms," he suggested and led her to an empty one across from the elevators.

Once they'd entered, he closed the door and they took their seats at the table. Although it wasn't an interrogation room, Sara had the uncomfortable feeling that she was being forced to conduct one, and she didn't like it. Would Neal resent her prying? On the other hand, why should she care? She was doing this out of friendship for Fiona.

Neal was sitting back, an easy smile on his face. "So to what do I owe the pleasure? Have you discovered another forgery? Need help finding a good Thai restaurant in midtown?"

If only it were that simple. "We haven't talked since Rinaldi was arrested. Fiona mentioned you were injured."

That didn't go over well. "I'm sorry I worried her," he said, wincing. "It looked worse than it was."

"That's good to hear." Sara took a breath and plunged ahead. "I don't want you to think I'm butting into your affairs, but Fiona asked me to speak with you."

"Why? What's going on?"

"That's what she'd like to know. You say she worries too much, but she's concerned about you. From what she told me, you have a propensity for returning from a mission with battle wounds but you won't discuss what happened. Fiona's blaming herself. She's afraid that because of some incident a couple of weeks ago when she overreacted you now feel she can't handle it."

"Did she tell you what happened?"

"No details—only that Peter and Travis charged in, expecting a hostage situation. She's embarrassed about what went on. Now you're on another assignment with someone so dangerous you need to distance yourself, and she's worried that by trying to protect her, you're placing yourself in greater risk. If there anything you can tell me that will ease her concerns?"

Neal considered for a few moments before replying. "I'm in the midst of an undercover job, and Fiona's right, the guy I have to deal with is slime of the earth. It's possible he'd try to make a play on her to blackmail me, and I don't want her to have to deal with it. That's why I warned her about him. Did she tell you who he is?"

"Matthew Keller? I looked him up in our files. Unsavory character."

"Keller hasn't approached her, has he?"

"Not to my knowledge, and I'm sure she'd let you know if he did. Fiona's taking precautions. She doesn't want you stressing about her."

"It's not that I don't believe her, but how could she know how she'll react if Keller targets her? She doesn't have any experience. Fiona's never dealt with a criminal like Keller."

He made a good point—one which Sara found hard to refute. "How long do you think this will go on?"

"Hard to say," Neal said with a shrug, "but I don't want Fiona to be worried about me. The best advice I have is for her to pretend that I'm nobody. If you told her I'm a jerk—no one worth caring about—that might make it easier for her."

Was he serious? He certainly looked like he meant it, but she couldn't possibly say that to Fiona. It seemed the more Sara talked about it, she was only succeeding in making it worse.

Neal politely steered her onto other topics. They chatted a few minutes about the London art scene. She had to admit it was much more pleasant, but at the end of their conversation, Sara was left feeling she'd accomplished nothing.

What was she going to tell Fiona? That Neal wanted her to forget about him? No, she'd simply have to reassure her with platitudes and hope they'd be able to patch things up once the case was resolved. It was plain that Neal's past was causing issues. Peter's attitude. Keller. Now Neal seemed determined to build a wall between himself and Fiona. Was he trying to protect her from Keller or from himself?

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Once the elevator doors closed on Sara, Neal continued to stare at them for a minute. The vibes he was picking up from her were disquieting. Was it just that she felt uncomfortable at what Fiona had asked her to do or was there something else? Why did he have the feeling she was hiding something? Fiona must really be upset to have asked Sara be an intermediary. He was doing a great job at messing up her life. For her sake, he should cool down their relationship. Go back to being friends. She'd be much safer with him out of her life.

When Neal walked into the bullpen, Peter was standing on the balcony. He must have been watching for him since he gave him the double finger-point to join him in his office. As expected, he wanted a full accounting of their conversation.

"Fiona's worried and asked her to talk to me." Neal stopped. He felt awkward discussing it, even with Peter. Cons were so much simpler when he didn't have the complications of relationships. "I didn't go into any of the details with Sara. I'm sure she wasn't very satisfied. How about you?"

"The same. Sara's not dumb. She's probably sensing something's not right."

Neal tried to focus on other matters for the remainder of the afternoon. He called Mozzie and briefed him on Huber. Late afternoon he appropriated an unused conference room to call Keller and explain that Raquel was enjoying the chase and playing hard to get. Keller's tongue was sharper than ever as he gave him a tongue-lashing for losing his touch.

At the end of a frustrating day, Neal headed to Columbia. Tonight was his computational art seminar. For much of the previous month that had been the major stress in his life. Simpler times. He'd come close to dropping the course to avoid a failing mark. But thanks to some mental pushups on his part and much tutoring from Aidan and Travis, he'd survived the first month and now was actually starting to enjoy it. Compared with everything else going on in his life, plunging into the antiseptically clean world of digital art had a distinct appeal. He planned to block out his personal upheavals and lose himself in vectors.

On the way Neal stopped off at the Aloha Emporium for a quick bite and to see Mozzie. When he walked into the store, he spotted him in the café, sitting at a table with Angela. She had her laptop open on the table in front of her, and they were engaged in an animated conversation. She was doing most of the talking, and Mozzie had a decidedly avuncular look to his face as he listened. It made Neal smile to watch them. He placed an order for crab cakes and joined them. "Working on your cosmetics orders?"

"Even better," Angela replied. "We're about to go online. I convinced Billy and Mozzie the time was right. I'd been talking with some of my friends from undergrad days at the University of Washington about our cosmetics, and they can't understand why we don't have a website. It's become an embarrassment."

"Michael's helping us with the design," Mozzie added. "Manhattan Geeks where he works has a number of retail packages available." He swiveled the laptop for Neal to see the display. "What do you think?"

"He has a good eye." Michael had incorporated an eco-friendly Hawaiian theme to the site. He was specializing in modern art at Columbia and his taste showed. "I assume Michael's giving you the friends and family rate?"

"Of course," Mozzie confirmed. "He also appears to provide unlimited consults. Every time I come in, I see him here with Angela . . . working on the website."

"Naturally," Neal said, nodding with the proper gravity his remark deserved.

Angela grinned. "I have to admit, he's remarkably attentive to my requests." She glanced at her watch. "I need to leave. I promised Aidan I'd meet him at his studio to record a few extra lines that Mozzie added to the script. Afterward I'm meeting Richard at the SFX workshop. He's been inundated with makeup requests for Tac-Con and I offered to help." She powered down her laptop. "It's a zoo right now between my courses, the video, the Emporium, and Tac-Con. I don't know how you manage to work full time on top of your master's work."

" _Manage_ may not be the right word," Neal admitted. "More like hurtling from one to the other."

As Angela rose, she said in an undertone, "No sign of Keller, but I'm being careful."

After she left, Mozzie added, "Billy and Maggie are on the alert. They're watching out for her. I wouldn't be surprised to hear Billy's nephew Steve has also been delegated to be on the lookout. You have no need to be concerned about her."

"Thanks. When Keller knew me in Europe, I never mentioned any relatives. Back then I didn't know anything about most of them anyway, so there was nothing to tell."

"Keller hasn't brought her up?"

"Not so far. He may assume I'm still a loner like him. If not, I'll use the Anastasia con on him." In Hawaii Neal had planted the idea that he'd fabricated being related to the Caffreys for future inheritance money. The stain left from that con had taken a long time to wash off. This time it might not be so hard. He was shifting between personalities so frequently, sometimes nothing seemed real. "Did you find out anything about Huber?"

Mozzie nodded. "He has quite an estate. It's on a point in the Hamptons. Isolated location. Perfect for our purposes. I'll do reconnaissance there for the next two days."

"Your cover?"

"Birdwatcher. I'm now a member of the Eastern Long Island Audubon Society. It will be cold and blustery, but perhaps I will find the elusive Snow Bunting. And scoters. I haven't seen a Black Scoter in years. I have my long underwear, parka, pocket warmer, emergency blanket, cooler filled with food, scope, charts, and other supplies ready."

"You're a good man, Mozz. I'm grateful.''

"Tosh. I haven't had a chance to case a location in quite a while. I was in danger of getting rusty." Mozzie paused. "I heard from Gordon Taylor. He has a message for you."

Mozzie maintained close relations with Gordon— the legendary gentleman thief of their time. Neal had never worked for him and Gordon had given up trying to recruit him. "Gordon's still in France, right?"

"Yes. He told me someone's asking about a painting by Braque— _Violin and Candlestick_. Gordon was told you may have knowledge of it." Mozzie arched his eyebrows inquisitively at him.

It wasn't a surprise that Gordon had been approached about the painting, but who had told him about Neal's involvement? Gordon had been working in Europe when Neal worked with Klaus but their paths had never crossed. "What did Gordon hear?"

Mozzie eyed him accusingly. "So you are familiar with it. Why haven't I heard anything about it?"

"Because I don't have it. I helped Klaus steal the painting years ago, but I assumed he'd already sold it."

"Doesn't sound like it. Someone's offering a king's ransom for it."

"Do you know who told him?"

Mozzie spun his hand in circles. "The rumor's made it into the ether. A friend of a friend of a friend … you know how it goes. I could contact André and ask him to look into it?"

Neal sat back, heaving a sigh. Not that hornets' nest again. André knew Neal as Gary Rydell. They'd become friends in Geneva where André coached Gary in fencing and they'd worked together on several jobs. Last fall he assisted Neal in conning Fowler and in return Neal and Mozzie helped him relocate to Paris where he was now working for Gordon Taylor. The Fowler con had caused one slight wrinkle. "Go ahead. See if he can find out who's behind the inquiries. Does André still think Gary and Neal are …?"

"In a relationship? Yes, I didn't have the heart to tell him about the end of their romance, what with Valentine's Day and all."

Neal groaned. He'd been afraid of that. He hadn't meant to deceive André and now it was coming back to bite him. "Mozzie, I really feel it's time."

He shook his head emphatically. "Neal wouldn't want to break Gary's heart right after Valentine's Day. That would be too cruel. Besides, André will be much more inclined to help Neal out if he feels Neal and Gary are still together."

Neal sighed. "Okay, but soon, please. I don't want to drag this out any further."

"Killjoy."

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

The next morning Neal chose his suit with particular care. John Hobhouse from Interpol was scheduled to meet with Peter in the afternoon, and Neal hoped he'd want to interview him too. As he knotted his tie in front of the mirror, he speculated about the possibilities of a future partnership with Interpol on art crimes. Would Peter even act interested? He made no bones about not being thrilled at the overseas travel that would be involved. Neal sighed. He should have talked it up more with El, so she'd exert some pressure too. How could Peter not want to travel abroad?

He wished his own chances were as good, but Peter had been sending signals that the hurdles Hobhouse would have to leap over to appoint him could be too high. Neal shrugged. He'd morphed from thief to FBI consultant, from high school dropout to grad student. Could he now win over Interpol? He smiled at his reflection. Why not?

When he entered the conference room for the morning briefing, Travis, Diana, and Jones had already arrived. Tricia and Peter were speaking together in Peter's office. Since the agenda for the briefing included Azathoth, she'd be joining them.

While waiting, Neal asked Jones about his work to trap the Dutchman.

"My profile is complete—thanks to your help. I've been working with Interpol and we have everything in place. You're looking at Gilberto Esteban, Colombian drug lord. I'm an illegitimate son of Pablo Escobar with a hidden villa in the Andes. We created the profile with the help of the Colombian authorities and it should withstand any scrutiny Hagen could use."

"I have a good feeling about this," Neal said. "Gilberto sounds just like the type of client Hagen would be targeting."

Jones nodded in agreement. "I'll use the contacts you supplied plus ones we and Interpol know about."

When Tricia and Peter joined them, she started off the discussion by asking about Tac-Con. "Who plans to attend?"

Travis and Jones both spoke up. No surprise there. "I'll be there in disguise," Jones said. "I'm going to focus on gaming. The convention will be an excellent opportunity to monitor chatter about any new Lovecraft-based games. I'm playing the part of a wealthy hobbyist and potential investor. My goal is to be courted as by vendors as a backer. They may drop names of other investors, and Azathoth could be one of them."

"What kind of disguise?" Tricia asked.

Jones rubbed the back of his neck. "It was Travis's idea."

"He'll be a Klingon," Travis said, nodding with satisfaction. "Richard's creating the makeup, and Janet's will supply the costume. He's going to look like he walked off a movie set. Anyone who can afford that type of costume will be considered a hot prospect."

Peter looked skeptical of the argument but didn't raise any flags. "I take it, you're adopting the same strategy?" he asked Travis.

Responding in Leonard Nimoy's even-pitched modulation, he confirmed, "Your assumption is correct, captain."

"Did you decide to go, too?" Tricia asked Peter.

He nodded. "Neal's promised not to tease me about costumes. As an exhibitor he won't be wearing one either."

Diana was impatient to move the discussion off Tac-Con. "There's been a development on the fan fiction front. Last night I got a review you'll all be interested in." Checking to see she had everyone's attention, she announced, "The review is a string of 53 characters and numbers." She passed around copies.

"Travis, what do you think? Peter asked.

He pursed his lips as he studied it. "It could be spam … or possibly a message from Azathoth himself."

"Have you been able to find out anything about the reviewer?" Tricia asked.

"I'm unfamiliar with the user name and the profile on the website is blank. I'm attempting to trace it, but I doubt I'll get very far. The email address was probably set up specifically for the site."

Neal looked around at the others. "Should I contact White Collar's ace cryptographer?"

"You're not talking about Mozzie, are you?" Diana challenged.

"Do you know of any others?"

Peter supported him. "It's a good idea. Go ahead and bring him in." He turned to Travis. "Contact our own analysts about this. We should use all the tools available to us."

"Have you responded yet?" Tricia asked.

"No. I wanted to discuss it with you first."

"Let's craft a response together. We want to encourage further communication without provoking him into something dangerous." Tricia considered for a moment and turned to Neal. "How amenable do you think Mozzie would be to working with us on the reply? He's likely more attune to the mind of Azathoth than anyone else we know."

"Define _us_ ," Neal asked cautiously.

"Diana and me."

"Two Pants Suits? At once?" Neal sensed roadblocks ahead. Although Mozzie had bestowed nicknames on them, he'd yet to meet them. Neal was particularly concerned about Diana. Her sharp edges could be a harsh irritant to the paranoiac sensitive soul of a shadow-dweller.

"Is that what Mozzie calls us?" Tricia asked with a chuckle. "Well, given that's what we wear all the time, it's understandable."

"Yeah, and it's a lot better than being called a Wet Suit," Jones remarked. "That's his name for me."

"It will require finesse," Neal said, "but I'm game to give it a try. We'll need a neutral spot."

"Travis, you've developed a good working relationship with him. How did you break through his firewall?" Tricia asked.

"Common interests. I've been elevated to the rank of Space Suit because of my work with SETI. I don't suppose you have any experience with UFO sightings or abductions by space aliens? That would guarantee you a meeting."

"You can build on your birdwatcher status," Neal told her. "Mozzie occasionally dabbles in birding when it suits his purpose. And that's become more frequent since he started dating a woman whose idea of a romantic date is to go on a field trip looking for bugs. As long as I've known him, Mozzie has wandered off for Thoreau moments. And now that he's a champion of the yellow-faced bee, he's taking up the cause of other endangered species as well."

"Mozzie, the environmentalist," Tricia murmured, writing a note.

"As for Diana," added Neal, "she holds a trump card Mozzie won't be able to resist."

"Already ahead of you, Caffrey," she said smugly and added, "If Mozzie wants to avoid his character being killed off, he better meet with me."

The meeting adjourned with Neal promising to contact Mozzie. He suggested asking June to host the meeting. Her place made the best secure neutral site for a meeting and Neal hoped to get her involved in helping Diana.

Afterward, Peter called him into his office. After an hour of sitting in one meeting, the last thing Neal wanted to do was to sit back down in a space even more confined than before. If Peter hadn't needed to stay around for Hobhouse, Neal would have suggested the rooftop. He'd already explored it. True, the ambiance didn't begin to approach that of his terrace at June's place, but at least it was out in the open. Neal settled for standing by the window. He was relieved Peter didn't make an issue of it.

"I assume your man in the field is casing the estate as we speak."

Neal nodded. "He already texted me, confirming Raquel's information. Huber and his family are away. He hopes to chat up the guard to learn about the staffing situation. If there's no housekeeper on Sunday, I plan to go in Sunday afternoon."

Peter's eyes narrowed. "Broad daylight? Don't cat burglars prefer working at night?"

"It depends. The advantage of working in daylight is that cars are less conspicuous. You don't have to use flashlights or turn on lights which could be a giveaway. Besides, for our cover it's appropriate. We're going in as birdwatchers."

Peter chuckled. "You and Mozzie? Him I can see, but you?"

Neal shrugged. "It will be a new experience, I grant you, but particularly for Mozzie it's ideal. He's out there today as an ornithologist surveying wintering Snow Buntings. Survey work entails long hours of sitting in position with a scope or binoculars. You couldn't ask for a better cover. Sunday I'll join him. Just two members of the Eastern Long Island Audubon Society doing our part to monitor migrant bird populations."

"Make that three. I'm going with you."

Was he serious? Mr. Law-and-Order? Judging by his expression, Peter meant it. That was touching. He'd have to let him down gently. "I appreciate the offer, but I can't let you. There's always a risk. You're better off keeping your hands clean. Besides, someone's got to be available to bail me out if it blows up."

Peter shook his head. "That's exactly why I'm going. Keep the two of you out of trouble."

All Neal's attempts to talk him out of it were met with a steel wall of resistance, so he finally relented. "Okay, birding buddy, we'll pick you up at eleven o'clock. Mozzie's supplying the vehicle. But you're staying by the car. You can be lookout. Mozzie will handle the guard. Only I will go in. Deal?"

"We'll discuss it further based on what the ornithologist tells us. Is he driving? Can he drive?"

"Any vehicle, any make. From an ambulance to an armored—"

Peter groaned. "Stop there. I don't want to hear any more."

"Just remember—I tried to keep you out of it, so whatever happens Sunday, you can't blame me."

"No, we'll both blame Mozzie. No matter what, it's his fault."

Despite himself, Neal broke into a grin. Peter's initiation into the dark side. Had he ever participated in a heist before? The thought raised tantalizing ideas until he thought of what El might say. He was glad he didn't have to be there when Peter told her what he was doing. "Sherkov and I spoke with Martine Giron yesterday at Columbia. As we discussed, I didn't mention much—just that we'd like to talk to her about a possible FBI operation at the Met."

"Did she agree to come in?"

"Yes, she'll be here Monday morning. I'll come in for the meeting. Oh, and Raquel was also happy to agree to a fake date on Saturday."

"What are you planning?"

"We're going to visit the _Love Letters from a Pharaoh_ exhibit at the Met and have cocktails afterward. I'd be surprised if Keller doesn't keep a close watch on us. He'll think I'm making a double play—taking advantage of our date to case the exhibit."

"Are you worried about him following you on Sunday?"

Neal shook his head. "No, I'll use the Columbia tunnel network to make sure he's not tailing me before joining Mozzie."

Peter nodded, glancing at his watch. "Hobhouse should arrive any moment now. Hughes is taking him and me out to lunch. The meeting is scheduled to start at one o'clock. Keep yourself available."

Neal left in high spirits. Despite Peter's efforts to tamp down expectations, he was excited at the prospect of meeting Hobhouse. The code Diana had received was exhilarating. It proved that her crazy scheme to write stories might actually elicit tangible results. For once, everything was going his way. On the subway to work, he'd pictured himself as a circus acrobat, racing back and forth to keep several plates spinning. Keller, Raquel, Fiona, Azathoth, Hobhouse, Hagen, White Collar, the Braque, Tac-Con, classes, his art—each plate kept spinning faster and faster. As the subway clanked along on the tracks, the exertion of keeping all those plates spinning on their poles seemed at times unmanageable, but now all the plates were spinning merrily, perfectly balanced. He was in control.

Neal headed for the lab. Travis wanted to demonstrate a new caddy he'd developed which made copying hard drives easier. While they were discussing it, Neal's cell phone rang. When he saw who was calling, one of those spinning plates careened into his chest and knocked the wind out of him.

"Hi, Neal." Fiona's voice sounded a little hesitant and Neal's mind immediately leaped to a hundred possibilities, all of them bad. "You wanted me to let you know … Keller came by this morning."

Neal sat down hard on a chair, causing Travis to stare at him. "Where? What did he want?"

"Relax. Nothing happened." Despite her words, Fiona's tone wasn't very reassuring. "At eleven the receptionist called me that a potential customer had asked to speak with me. When she escorted him to my office, I recognized him right away. He introduced himself as Matthew Carlton and claimed that he had a painting—a Monet—which he wanted to auction. He said he'd heard good things about me and asked me out to lunch. I declined. I told him I didn't handle French paintings and referred him to another associate. He was quite persistent, but I held firm. Don't worry about it. I told the receptionist to keep an eye out for him and let me know if he returns."

"You did the right thing. Thanks for letting me know."

After he got off the phone, Neal stayed sitting as he considered the implications.

"Keller?" Travis asked quietly.

Neal explained what occurred. Keller was rattling his chains. Using the name of the hotel in Cannes was a deliberate act to draw him out.

"You're telling Peter, right?"

He nodded. It'd have to wait till after the meeting with Hobhouse though. It was already noon. Peter was at lunch now with him and Hughes. Neal told himself this was what he'd expected. Fiona acted exactly as she was supposed to. But would Keller take her rebuff as a challenge to try another tactic? Neal began sorting through the moves available to Keller.

Travis broke into his thoughts. "How about a watch? Now that Keller has approached her, I could requisition one of the watches similar to what we use for field work. It would allow her to be tracked if necessary. I could modify it for her to send us a panic signal."

His suggestion was an excellent one. "Make that two. Angela could also use one."

He nodded. "I'll get started. Modifying the watches won't take long. Peter can sign the paperwork after your meeting with Hobhouse."

The watches would help, but the only way to guarantee Fiona and Angela's safety would be to take Keller down, and that couldn't happen soon enough.

* * *

 ** _Notes_** _: Next week in Chapter 8: Lurking Crocodiles, John Hobhouse visits White Collar, and Neal and Raquel go on a fake date. If Neal knew Fiona and Sara were also planning to go to the Met on Saturday, he undoubtedly would have made different arrangements. Still, the museum is immense. What are the chances they'd bump into each other?_

 _Sara found herself in a sticky situation this week. I've written about her for our blog. The post is called "A Tale of Two Saras." Penna wrote about what it was like to have Baby Bear in her head in her new post, "Baby Bear: When Characters Talk to Writers." Baby Bear has yet to make an appearance in The Mirror, but I wouldn't be surprised if he finds a way to pop in. Baby Bear can be very demanding at times. If you don't know who Baby Bear is, you'll find out all you need to know in Penna's post._

 _Thanks to Penna for providing inspiration for the scene between Neal and Sara and all the other beta nuggets she sprinkled along the way. Thanks for reading and your comments. If you ever have any suggestions for what you'd like us to write about in our blog, please let us know._

 ** _Blog_** _: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation_ _  
 **Chapter Visuals and Music** : The Mirror board on the Caffrey Conversation Pinterest website_


	8. Lurking Crocodiles

**Chapter 8: Lurking Crocodiles**

 **Federal Building. February 18, 2005. Friday.**

On Friday afternoon Neal worked at his desk in the bullpen rather than in the lab. He wanted to be present when John Hobhouse arrived. Peter and Hughes had gone downstairs to meet him for lunch so this was Neal's first opportunity to see him in person. How closely would he resemble his photo in the Interpol file?

Every time the elevator door dinged, Neal turned his head to look. At last Hobhouse made an appearance. About four inches shorter than Peter, his dark hair was lightly salted with gray and on the long side. Well-tailored suit. Savile Row? He reminded Neal of some museum curators he knew. He would blend in well with the museum council members. When Hobhouse walked in, he was engaged in conversation with Hughes and Peter. They didn't stop at his desk but headed straight upstairs. That wasn't a surprise, but if ever there was a time Neal wished he'd planted a bug in the conference room, this was it.

He twirled a pen impatiently as he waited for the call that might not come. He'd already alerted Fiona and Angela about the watches Travis was preparing for them. Once Peter signed off, an FBI courier would deliver them. There was nothing more he could do on that front. He'd cleaned out his email. No need to review his notes on Azathoth. They were already hermetically sealed in his brain.

Neal hadn't expected that he'd be so excited, but when this opportunity came up, he realized how much he missed going overseas. While he waited, Neal braced himself for Hobhouse not being interested. He'd been accepted so well by the White Collar team, it was easy to forget that in the eyes of many others he was still a con artist, a thief, and a forger. The prevailing wisdom was once a con, always a con. Klaus, Adler, Keller—they all believed that. Several in the FBI felt the same. He wouldn't be at all surprised if Kramer did. Peter and the other members of the team were an exception. Could he convince Hobhouse? Would he even have the chance to?

Neal got out a pad of paper and began sketching to calm his nerves. The Tower of London seemed fitting. Once over drinks at the Carlton Cannes, he and Keller had talked about making off with the Crown Jewels. Keller was going to disguise himself as a Yeoman Warder. Neal grinned as inspiration struck. He'd sketch Keller as a Beefeater at the Tower of London, holding a massive axe. The next scene would show he'd been discovered and three burly warders were slapping irons on him to drag him off to the tower. The final scene would show him on the chopping block with the executioner holding his axe high over his head preparing to behead him. Neal had just gotten started on the third scene, when he got a call from Peter to join them upstairs. "Your day's coming, Keller," he muttered and slipped the sketches inside his desk.

Before heading upstairs, Neal took a moment to collect himself. Hobhouse had already spent a couple of hours with Peter and Hughes. He'd reviewed Neal's file and probably had already formed an opinion of him. Peter had said to be honest and straightforward. If Hobhouse weren't interested in him, it wasn't that big a deal. He still had White Collar. He still had Columbia. No need for Interpol too. Right.

When Neal entered the conference room, Peter made the introductions. It was just the three of them. Hughes had already returned to his office.

Hobhouse rose to shake his hand. "I'm glad to finally meet you in person. As I explained to Peter, your activities over the past year with both the Leopard and Azathoth have made your case files must reads for my new role."

They sat at one end of the conference table and proceeded to review the past history of Azathoth. Undoubtedly, Hobhouse had already discussed it at length with Peter and Hughes but Neal assumed he was taking advantage of the opportunity to judge Neal's presentation skills. All the practice he'd obtained at Columbia stood him in good stead. Soon the three of them broadened the discussion to international art crimes in general and specifically the increased attention being given them by organized crime.

Neal knew that Hobhouse's wife had been an art professor. He was glad to see Hobhouse could also hold his own in a discussion of art. Hobhouse was in no hurry to move the meeting along. When the conversation diverged to the London art scene, Peter was left on the sidelines to look bemusedly at them at times.

Klaus had taken Neal to London shortly after Neal joined his crew. It was part of Klaus's master plan to turn him into the world's consummate forger. During those first months Klaus only used him occasionally on jobs, instead insisting that he focus on refining his art technique. Neal had chafed at the time, but now he was grateful. There were no skeletons in his closet from the UK.

Klaus himself, the man known to the world as the Leopard, was also a subject of discussion. Until Neal revealed who he was to the Bureau, his identity had been unknown. In the official record, Klaus was simply one of several art thieves Neal had learned about when he lived in Europe. Peter was the only law enforcement official who knew the extent of Neal's friendship with the man.

Hobhouse pressed him for the details of the op which brought Klaus down and in particular the forgery he'd painted of Vermeer's _Woman in Blue_. "Do you still have the painting?" he asked.

"Yes," Peter replied. "It's stored in the vault here in New York."

"Not in D.C.? I'm surprised Art Crimes didn't want to store it."

"They did, but since Neal painted it, I made the case we should retain it. Art Crimes wasn't involved with the case. It broke very quickly when we were able to take advantage of an unexpected opportunity. There was no time to bring them in."

Hobhouse nodded, apparently satisfied. "Could I see it?"

Peter called Jones to sign it out of the storage vault and bring it to them. Neal hadn't seen the Vermeer in months. To preserve it as evidence, shortly after the case he'd affixed a receiver canvas underneath to act as a backing, leaving the bullet hole untouched, and stretched the reinforced canvas onto a frame. After that, he hadn't looked at the painting again. He'd lavished so much effort on it, even to the point of holding conversations with the woman in the painting, that to see her pierced by a gaping bullet hole was a pain he had no desire to revisit.

While waiting for the painting to arrive, Neal questioned Hobhouse about his familiarity with authentication and assigning provenance. He was pleased with what he heard. The man could hold his own.

A knock at the conference room door alerted them that Jones had arrived with the painting. He placed it without comment on the table.

Hobhouse got up to study it, retrieving a jeweler's loupe from an inside pocket of his jacket. After having Professor Stockman and others inspect so many of his other paintings, Neal half-expected Hobhouse to start grilling him like Stockman did. He was grateful Peter took the lead in explaining how the Vermeer had been damaged.

Looking up, Hobhouse said, "It must be difficult to see the painting like this. My wife often talked about the strong connection an artist feels with his work."

Neal acknowledged it with a nod. "She was an innocent victim, caught up in a crime not of her making.'' He repressed the urge to stand up and pace, but it was difficult to sit quietly.

"I see no reason why she shouldn't be repaired, but I'm not familiar with the FBI's procedure on this." Hobhouse turned to Peter and raised a brow.

"D.C. Art Crimes had advised it be left with the hole intact to preserve the evidence," Peter said. His tone indicated it was not a policy he endorsed.

"But with Mansfeld dead, it's odd that it should be kept," Hobhouse mulled. "The case is closed. I'd be inclined to return it to Neal so that he could heal the wound. I don't see any reason for him not to have it back after, of course, he'd signed it with his own name." If he were looking for a way to extend a friendly hand, he'd just achieved it, and Neal appreciated the gesture.

Hobhouse left shortly afterwards, remarking that he hoped to be able to finalize his team in a couple of weeks. Once the elevator doors had closed, Neal filled Peter in on the phone call he'd received from Fiona. He'd taken the paperwork with him, and Peter signed it on the spot.

"You're not surprised at this, are you?" he asked.

"It's what I expected. He's throwing his weight around. Giving me a signal to toe the line. Fiona's being careful. She told me she'd made plans with Sara to spend time together over the weekend. I can't appear to react to what he did, or it would show my hand."

"So you're still going to see Raquel tomorrow?"

Neal nodded. "My new role of Don Juan, love 'em and leave 'em, that's me."

Peter shot him a quick, assessing look, but didn't respond to his remark. "Your caffeine reserve must be on empty. How about grabbing some of the house brew and we'll discuss it in my office?"

While Peter put in a call to the courier service to deliver the watches, Neal fetched the coffee.

"What's your impression of Hobhouse?" Peter asked, taking a sip.

"I like him. He has a low-key, professional style I appreciate."

"I felt the same. His knowledge of the art world is extensive but he doesn't try to put it on display."

"Do you think you'd enjoy working with him?"

Peter rotated his mug slowly in his hands as he considered. "I believe so."

Neal asked the question that was uppermost in his mind. "Did my past come up?"

"Before you joined the FBI? Oh yeah." A wry smile quirked on his lips. "For someone who only spent a few years in Europe, you built up quite a reputation."

Neal shrugged. "Neal Caffrey, overachiever, that's me."

"But your record since then has been admirable. That was a topic over lunch. Hughes and I both weighed in and said that aside from being too cocky, too reckless, too insubordinate—"

Neal broke into a laugh. "Thank you for bringing out my best points!"

Peter chuckled softly. "Anytime." His expression turned serious. "Hobhouse appreciates that your … let's call them life-changing experiences in Europe put you in a unique position to assist Interpol and the museum council. We discussed Mansfeld, your work on identifying the Dutchman, and went over the present situation with Keller. I also went into your record at Columbia, explaining that you're on track for a dual master's and that your advisor's sponsoring your application for the PhD program. I can safely say he was impressed."

Neal felt an unexpected glow at his words and Peter apparently thought a little extra warmth wouldn't hurt as he added, "Hobhouse appeared to attach particular weight to the commitment that your PhD application implies. He indicated your studies would be favorably received by the museum council members who tend to label law enforcement officials as crass dolts with no understanding of art."

"I like him more every minute. How about our competition? Did he say anything about Kramer?"

Peter nodded. "There's no doubt Kramer's campaigning to be on the task force. There's not room for three from the Bureau. At least we won't have long to wait."

"What does Elizabeth think about it?"

"She supports it and has made no bones about her readiness to pack for Europe, Asia, or anywhere else at the drop of a fedora."

Neal broke out into a grin and raised his mug. "I'll drink to that, even if it is only swill."

Peter chuckled. "Somehow I figured you would. But I have to caution you that from Hobhouse's description, it doesn't sound like the amount of overseas travel will be that frequent or extensive. The members of the task force will act as advisors and work primarily via video conferencing. As a practical matter, the main difference for us would be a greater allocation of our time on art crimes, but we would still be conducting the bulk of our work in New York."

"That's actually better for me, at least when classes are in session."

"But don't get your hopes up," he cautioned. "Kramer's credentials are rock-solid. I have to say he's the obvious choice."

"Or you. If I don't pass muster, that shouldn't impact your chances."

"Yeah, but I'm not an art expert. Kramer is. I can't see why Hobhouse would select me unless he also picked you. But for you to serve on the task force, he'll need to get clearance from Interpol. There aren't any roadblocks with Kramer." Peter drained the last of his coffee. "You'll keep me informed of what Mozzie finds out about Huber?"

"Of course."

By the time he left Peter's office, Neal was ready to leave for the day. No Friday night date at the Tamarind Grill tonight. He planned to spend the evening working on his paintings. As he left the building, he spotted Keller loitering by the subway entrance. Good. As long as he was tailing Neal, he wouldn't be harassing Fiona. Neal gave him a brief nod as he descended the stairs to the subway but didn't stop to talk. On the ride home Neal reviewed his plans. As the car lumbered along, he stood by one of the center poles, rocking back and forth to the rhythm of its motion and feeling his own ideas propelled forward along the tracks. Once he'd lifted the cat from Huber, he should be able to get what he needed to forge the ring from Raquel on Monday. Allocating two days to forge the ring, he'd have it ready for Keller on Thursday, with a target of Friday for the heist. It was tight, but the sooner the operation was held, the less chance for Keller to get impatient and try something.

When he arrived home, he changed into jeans and running shoes. These days he had little time to work out. Instead he'd taken to running in Riverside Park for the nine-block trek to his studio in Watson Hall. On a Friday night, the only students there were like him absorbed in their own projects. Neal blocked out all other issues and settled in to paint. By the time his cell phone rang a couple of hours later his head was in a much better place than when he started.

Putting aside his paintbrush, Neal answered it. "Hi, Henry."

"Figured you wouldn't be on a date with Fiona. I don't hear any Mozart on. You must not be studying. I therefore cleverly deduce you're painting. How'd I do?"

"Not bad, Sherlock." Henry gave him a break and didn't quiz him about Keller. Relieved, Neal described his paintings. He hadn't had a chance to discuss Tac-Con with Henry and he appeared to be genuinely curious. Rather surprising. He couldn't remember Henry ever having shown much of an interest in science fiction. Neal gave him a brief sketch of his plans, but Henry plied him for more information. Apparently Angela had been supplying him with details about his art and the video.

"So she told me to watch out," Henry said. "Hard as it is to believe, I'm not the only superhero of the family anymore. What's this about you being Yellowface, the Masked Avenger?"

Neal laughed. It was relaxing to talk about the video. From art they went to music. Henry was working on some new pieces, even trying his hand at composing a tune for his volunteer work. Henry made a couple of attempts to steer the conversation toward what was going on with Keller, but Neal deflected it each time. This was his mess, not Henry's.

 **Burke home, Brooklyn. February 19, 2005. Saturday morning.**

Most Saturdays lately, El needed to rush off early to prepare for an event, but today was an exception, and to celebrate Peter was making pancakes. Not that he was going to sacrifice having pancakes on Sunday. No, his sacrifice was on Saturday when he wasn't having bacon with them.

During their kitchen remodeling project, they'd added a small eating area with a kitchen island that doubled as a bistro table for two. El was sitting there now, perched on a kitchen stool. "Tricia called when you were upstairs. She's going to bring over her birding gear for you this afternoon. She seems quite intent on bringing you up to speed. She mentioned preparing research notes on the Snow Bunting for you to study."

Peter dished out a couple of pancakes and brought the plate over to her. "I'm beginning to see more and more similarity between Tricia and Mozzie. Her attention to detail rivals his in exactness. Neal's been concerned about Mozzie warming up to her but I predict they have so much in common, that won't be an issue."

"You're right. All Tricia has to do is mention her student protest days, and she'll win him over completely." Peter joined her at the table with his own plate of pancakes. "So when is their first meeting?" she asked, passing him the syrup.

"Tricia and Diana are going over to June's on Tuesday afternoon. Neal and Mozzie will meet them there. They're going to discuss character development and plot ideas. Tricia also wants Mozzie's help on formulating a response to the coded comment. Neal's already given Mozzie the code to work on."

"Mozzie hasn't talked with Diana yet either, has he? She could eat him alive."

"He wouldn't make much of a meal," Peter said between bites. "Diana needs his help. She'll put away her knives."

"I'm not so sure about that. Mozzie's easily intimidated and Diana can be abrasive. To help quiet his fears, I should attend the meeting. I'd be a reassuring presence and smooth the waters."

Peter sat back and pointed at her with his fork. "I'm wise to you, Mrs. Burke. You just want the chance to make your own suggestions to Diana."

El grinned mischievously. "Guilty as charged. But you have to admit, I'd be a help . . . and I could also throw in some suggestions for your character without you having to do so."

"I like the sound of that," he admitted. "I need someone there to watch my interests—make sure they're not putting me in costumes or turning me into a dork." The ringing of his cell phone interrupted their conversation. When he glanced at the display, he was surprised at the caller. "Hey, Henry. What's up?"

"Sorry to intrude on your Saturday. Give my apologies to El."

"Hi, Henry," El called out. "When are you going to visit us again?"

"Tell her soon I hope." He added in a lower voice, "I'm calling to talk about Neal."

"I figured that was the reason." Peter carried his phone over to the kitchen cabinets and reached into a drawer for a pad of paper to take notes. "Has the facial recognition software obtained a match?"

"Not yet. I talked with Neal last night. You remember our twin-speak?"

"Yeah, you can finish each other's sentences. It used to freak me out. It's like you can read each other's minds."

"Yeah, well what I'm reading now isn't good. He's not discussing the case with me and I know why. We're both guilty of keeping each other in the dark, but only when we perceive a threat to the other knowing about it. Just how dangerous an assignment is he on with Keller?"

"You're putting me on the spot. If Neal doesn't want to talk to you about it, you can't go behind his back and try to pump me. You'd asked me to keep Neal out of the loop about Fowler when you were acting on your own and I did, but I'm also going to extend the same courtesy to Neal."

"It's not like him to stress so much about going undercover. He normally revels in that kind of work, but not this time." Henry hesitated for a moment. "I'd come to New York, but I know that would stress him even more. Keeping him safe is your job, but you should be aware that he may be hiding his feelings from you too, and they could impact both the operation you're running and his own safety." He added bluntly, "I know how Neal works. He's turning himself into a carbon copy of Keller in order to take him down. The danger with that is Neal despises Keller. Every time he has to act like Keller, it's reinforcing his cockamamie notion that he puts those he cares about in danger. It's working a number on him and he may not act that rationally."

After he hung up, Peter mulled over Henry's words. El had been sitting silently, eating her breakfast and giving him time, but she finally commented, "Easy to tell what he wanted to talk about. Does he think Neal's in trouble?"

"He warned me Neal's more stressed than he's letting on. This isn't news. Neal's been acting differently all week. Keller's getting to him, and that could mean trouble down the road."

El finished his thought. "He's concerned about Fiona and Angela?"

"Yeah, this is his worst nightmare. Others are in jeopardy and he's blaming himself because of it. I'm sure his gut instinct is to run away rather than hurt them. But running won't do him any good. They're already on Keller's radar. I'm not sure how I'm going to handle it with him."

"Do you want to give him a call?"

Peter looked at his watch. "He'd mentioned he was going to spend the morning at Aidan's studio. They're going over the final revisions to the video. Travis and Richard will also be there. When we first discussed how to handle Keller, I was concerned trying to do Tac-Con at the same time would be too much, but I'm not now. Being with his friends and engaged in something that's so time-consuming is the best therapy he could have."

"Will he work on the video all day? If not, we could have him over for dinner," El suggested.

Peter shook his head. "He's already got a date, and it's not with Fiona."

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Midday Neal left the others at Aidan's studio to prepare for Raquel. They'd go for cocktails after the museum and then play it by ear for the rest of the evening.

The morning video session had gone well with only a few minor revisions. Neal and Richard left together, with Travis staying on to discuss the anti-malware project. From what Neal could tell, Aidan was pleased with his progress, while also acknowledging the high degree of sophistication of the malware. Something about the program constantly rewriting itself, which certainly sounded like it would be a challenge to foil.

Neal knotted his tie and checked his reflection in the mirror. It was a more sophisticated version of the art thief Raquel had known in Berlin. He'd selected an Italian cut dress shirt. Too bad Peter refused to spring for an Armani suit, but Neal had used a tailor to have one of Byron's suits modified to give it the proper fit. He nodded at his reflection. He was ready.

At two o'clock, he met Raquel in the Great Hall, the majestic main entry of the museum. Wearing a taupe silk suit which set off her raven-black hair, she looked like she'd jet-setted in from Milan for the day.

They spent the first hour at the _Love Letters from a Pharaoh_ exhibit. On a Saturday afternoon, the noise from the crowd was intense. Neal kept an eye on the throng while they toured the artifacts and noted Keller's presence with satisfaction. Raquel had also seen him and snaked her arm around Neal's waist. Keller lingered a few minutes, then disappeared. Neal expected he was still in the building.

When they left the exhibit, Neal suggested they stroll among the granite and limestone statues of the female pharaoh Hatshepsut. The gallery devoted to Hatshepsut was a refreshing oasis of relative quiet. The recessed lighting cast soft shadows on the slate-blue walls. Although there were almost as many visitors as at the exhibit, the noise control was better.

"I feel myself drawn to Hatshepsut," Raquel murmured. "She succeeded in a male-dominated world."

When a bench opened up, Neal grabbed it for the two of them to relax. "This reminds me of Berlin when we visited the Egyptian Museum together. It was my first time to see the bust of Nefertiti."

"I remember. Klaus wanted you to sculpt it? Did you ever?"

"No. I was going to but events interfered."

She glanced over at him. "I was disappointed to hear you'd left Europe. We could have had amusing times together."

"Perhaps there will be more opportunities in the future," he said, slipping an arm around her.

"I'd like that. We should make this evening a new beginning. I'm staying at the Pierre. We'll go there for cocktails. Keller will most likely be tailing us and I would never let anyone in my suite who I wasn't intimate with."

Raquel's breath was hot on his cheek. Her lips were as seductive as Nefertiti's as she caressed the air with her words. She'd acquired a slight Italian accent which suited her well. Neal leaned toward her.

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

"Neal will be so sorry he missed this!" Fiona said.

"It's his own fault for choosing work over pleasure," Sara replied. She and Fiona had spent a delightful afternoon. They'd started off with salads and a glass of wine at a nearby café then braved the crowds at the exhibit. The star attraction, King Tut's mirror, was prominently displayed in a case by itself in the center of the gallery. Once they were able to force their way through the crowd to approach the mirror, they lingered several minutes over it.

"The words of the poem are so lyrical. Listen to this." Fiona read out loud the translation from the display description. "'The love of my loved one is on the other shore. The river lies between us. And crocodiles lurk on the sandbanks. But I enter the water, I plunge into the flood.' " She turned to Sara. "I'd love to set it to music."

"It's very dramatic," Sara agreed. "You could make a romance out of it easily." After leaving the exhibit they wandered through some of the other galleries. Sara had never visited the Egyptian collection at the Met and she enjoyed having a personal tour.

"Before we leave, you need to see the Hatshepsut gallery," Fiona urged. "Her history was fascinating—complete with court intrigues and a secret lover. She was one of Egypt's greatest pharaohs and a role model of a woman succeeding in a male-dominated world."

"Romance, court intrigues—why hasn't the BBC made a mini-series about her life?" Sara asked as they entered the gallery. A couple was embracing on a bench. _They obviously aren't bothered by the number of museum visitors_ , she thought with a smile then did a double-take. Was that Neal? She quickly stepped in front of Fiona. "Let's go to another gallery and return later. It's too crowded right now."

But she was too late. Fiona had already seen them. And not only that, Neal glanced over and spotted her. Sara was hard pressed to decide who looked the most upset. She grabbed Fiona by the arm and spun her around. Hustling her into an adjacent hallway lined with mummies in glass display cases—okay, not the cheeriest of surroundings but her options were limited—Sara sought to reassure her. "I'm sure this is job-related. Remember, Neal said he'd be working undercover."

"Yeah, but I didn't think he meant that literally."

"Fiona! That's reading too much into it."

"Sorry, but I was warned about a ferret-faced hoodlum with greased-back hair, not a sophisticated, drop-dead-gorgeous Italian model." Fiona brushed her hair back and took a deep breath. "Don't worry about me. I'm fine." Seething, she marched through the corridor of mummy cases. The mummies were no doubt quaking inside their bandages.

Sara kept up a running monologue as she raced to keep up with her. "We've both teased him about being James Bond. You remember how James Bond would sometimes pretend to be interested in someone in order to get information? I'm sure that's what Neal's doing. It's purely business."

Fiona stopped to look at her with big eyes. "Not helpful. With James Bond, either the women would try to kill him or he'd wind up making love to them—in a train, on a desert island, in a submarine."

"Floating in a dinghy, on a Chinese junk, in a spaceship . . ." They both burst out in giggles.

"I suppose I should be thankful," Fiona said ruefully. "At least I haven't been covered with gold paint yet."

Sara patted her on the back encouragingly. "You see, this could be so much worse."

* * *

 ** _Notes_** _: Angela had called Henry a superhero when she invented the alias of Shawn (Super Hero AWesome Nobody). The account is in Penna Nomen's Caffrey Disclosure, Chapter 12. I also included a nod to the Season 2 canon episode "Company Man" where Neal said Diana would eat Mozzie alive, but Peter countered that he wouldn't make much of a meal. It seems fitting for a chapter called Lurking Crocodiles._

 _The lines Fiona quotes are from an actual love poem written during the New Kingdom, the same period as King Tutankhamun. I appropriated the words for the inscription on the mirror and have placed a link to the entire poem in my new post on our blog. The post is called "A Flip of the Canvas." The subject is how Neal views himself as an artist, both of his own works and of forgeries. March 21 was Neal's birthday, a date Peter mentioned in canon. In honor of the occasion, Penna wrote a birthday post where she compares the Neal of our 'verse with the canon version._

 _The Mirror board of our Caffrey Conversation Pinterest site includes visuals of the Hatshepsut gallery, Neal and Raquel, and John Hobhouse._

 _Next week in Chapter 9: Cat Burglar, Neal's off to the Hamptons with Mozzie and Peter to commit a heist where he winds up with more than he bargained for._

 _Thanks to Penna Nomen who somehow managed to dispense beta wisdom with wit and humor even when recovering from toe surgery. She is truly my superhero._

 ** _Blog_** _: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation_ _  
 **Chapter Visuals and Music** : The Mirror board on the Caffrey Conversation Pinterest website_


	9. Cat Burglar

**Chapter 9: Cat Burglar**

 **February 20, 2005.**

Light rain was falling as Neal headed for Columbia University on Sunday morning to rendezvous with Mozzie. He planned to make use of the university tunnel network to eliminate any chance of Keller tailing him.

When Neal emerged on West 118th Street, Mozzie was waiting for him in a battered Jeep Cherokee he'd appropriated from a friend. Mozzie pointed out the mud splatters on the SUV with the pride of a Boy Scout showing off his merit badges. He'd deliberately driven through marshes the previous day to acquire the coating—supposedly a hallmark of any birder's vehicle. Neal found it hard to be enthusiastic about driving around in a car he wouldn't normally be caught dead in, but Mozzie's two-day surveillance had also resulted in the confirmation they needed. The Huber estate on Long Island was currently vacant with only one guard posted at the entrance gate.

Mozzie took advantage of the drive to Brooklyn to complain to Neal yet again about Peter's participation in the heist. "Will he be able to look like a birdwatcher? He's had no training. I can't teach him all the subtleties of Snow Bunting identification while making my own observations."

"You don't have to worry. Peter assured me that Tricia was going to coach him." But Neal's words did little to silence him. Mozzie was grousing at having to conduct a heist with a suit on board, and nothing Neal could say would mollify him. It was going to be a long drive to the Hamptons.

Late in the day on Friday, Jones had received reluctant approval for a delayed search warrant, but Hughes had warned Peter of the shakiness of their legal justification. Permission had been obtained to copy Huber's hard drive but any evidence would most likely not be allowed in a court case. If the concern over a possible FBI mole weren't so high, Hughes never would have agreed.

When they arrived at Peter's house, Neal got out to help Peter stow his gear among the heaps of maps, bird guides, binoculars, lap rugs, coolers and other items Mozzie had stuffed into the cargo area. The lead birder remained sulking behind the wheel and now Neal had a second unhappy participant to appease.

"You're not letting Mozzie drive, are you?" Peter eyed the SUV dubiously. "Where'd he steal this? The junkyard? Does Mozzie even have a license?"

"Quiet, Suit," Mozzie yelled from the front seat. "I'm the head ornithologist. You're just my assistant. Neal, sit in the back with him. Keep him occupied and don't let him do any backseat driving."

"Where did you acquire all this stuff?" Peter demanded, surveying the contents in the back.

"I have my sources," he replied smugly. "Proper preparation is key for any successful mission." Mozzie was dressed in layers: turtleneck, flannel shirt, sweater, and heavy khaki pants. The clothes made him almost as round as a turtle. In the cargo space he'd stowed dingy parkas for the three of them. "Janet provided vital assistance," he added. "She prevailed on several birder friends to loan us some of their equipment."

The Hamptons were about a three-hour drive from Peter's house. Neal had not slept well the night before. He'd kept up the charade with Raquel, having drinks with her in the lounge at her hotel then going out to dinner. When he returned home, he called Fiona. She wasn't as upset as he'd feared, dismissing his apology and telling him Sara had helped her laugh about it. But was she just saying that? Had Keller seen her? She threw him for a loop when she asked him if he planned to make any trips on a submarine. Where was that coming from? He stared gloomily out the window. The rain had stopped, but it was still overcast and dreary.

Peter nudged him. "You okay? You're not normally this quiet."

"He's been like that ever since I picked him up," Mozzie said. "That dark cloud he's got over his head is worse than what's outside. He's going to rain down hail on all of us if we're not careful. Do something with him."

Neal exhaled noisily. "I'm fine."

"Come on, what happened?" Peter urged. "You saw Raquel yesterday, right? Tell me how it went. It will distract me from Mozzie's driving."

"Everything went smoothly with Raquel. Too smoothly." Neal picked glumly at a loose thread in his sweater. Mozzie had supplied him with his wardrobe. The baggy jeans he could tolerate, but the sweater really was beyond the pale. It looked like moths had feasted on it for months. He thought he was supposed to be a birder, not a homeless guy.

"That's not much of an answer. Surely you can do better than that."

"We visited the Egyptian galleries. Saw the new exhibit, by the way. The layout should work out well for what I have in mind. Did I mention that Martine Giron from Columbia will meet with us on Monday? Sherkov's already agreed to speak with the Met."

"You're stalling. Was Keller at the Met?"

"Yeah, we spotted him in the exhibit gallery. Raquel was quite willing to play along. You remember, the whole idea was to demonstrate I was coming on to her? Well, we did a good job at that. Spent some time in the Hatshepsut gallery, sitting on a bench." He shrugged. "Selling that we were close . . . Fiona and Sara walked in on us when we were kissing."

"Ouch," Peter said, wincing. "Now I understand."

"I talked with Fiona last night. She seemed okay, but that wasn't the case at the museum. She didn't hang around the gallery when she saw me—Sara hustled her away. Fortunately Keller wasn't there at the time—at least I don't think so."

"I gather you hadn't told Fiona about Raquel?"

Neal shook his head.

"If you'd keep yourself free of romantic entanglements," Mozzie interjected, "you wouldn't have these issues."

"Haven't we already had this discussion?" Neal protested. "As I recall, you hold yourself exempt."

Mozzie was undeterred. "In order to best advise you, I need more information on what happened afterwards. Describe what you and Raquel did after you left the museum. Leave out no detail, however small."

Neal rubbed his temple. The headache he'd woken up with was throbbing painfully. He knew he shouldn't have mentioned anything.

"Would you like me to call Fiona?" Peter asked. "I could explain it was job related. Besides, I was the one who suggested it."

"Thanks for the offer. Maybe later. I'll see how bad the fallout is."

"Cheer up, Neal," Mozzie said. "No need to be a wet blanket. Sara performed admirably. I may have to revise my opinion of her."

Responding to Peter's raised brow, Neal explained, "Mozzie faulted her for dumping me in favor of Bryan, not that we'd ever gotten to the point that I was hers to dump, or at least she didn't think so."

"It's my fault," Mozzie acknowledged. "I've been so preoccupied with saving the yellow-faced bee and my SETI research that I've been neglecting Neal. He has no concept on how to conduct himself around women. Makes a mess of every situation and I have to clean it up."

Neal slouched deeper into his seat and groaned. "Can we please change the subject?"

"But you haven't shared the details of your evening with Raquel yet. How can I advise you?"

Peter took pity on him and directed Mozzie into a different direction. "You know, Tricia's an avid birder. She lent me her binoculars, field guide, even her cap. Did you notice my patch from the Brooklyn Bird Club?"

Mozzie sniffed. "She has her good points. She married well."

In his zeal to be authentic, Mozzie had dropped off the interstate at Hauppage and they were now proceeding along a coastal highway. On a cold afternoon in February, there were few other vehicles on the road. The brown dune grass along the highway was being buffeted by the wind. The turbulence of the waves in the ocean under a leaden sky reminded Neal of the stormy condition of his own life. "How much longer before we get there?"

Peter seconded him. "I thought this was to be a daytime heist. At the rate we're going, our binoculars will be useless. Are we going to be birding or owling?"

"Enough with the snide comments. Have some coffee, or better yet, wine. It will improve your attitude."

Mozzie had provided ample supplies—thermoses of coffee, two bottles of honey wine, water, sandwiches, dried fruit, and nuts. Neal turned around and reached into the cargo space for the thermos. "Were you worried we'd get stranded?"

"Birders always consume massive amounts of snacks while birding. It's required. You want to be authentic, don't you?"

A couple of hours, one empty thermos of coffee and several sandwiches later, Mozzie finally pulled off the highway. They were now near the Huber estate, which was accessed by a long wooded drive from the coastal highway. Peter passed around earpieces for them. The plan was for Peter to stay near the car and keep an eye out for any approaching vehicles—particularly any patrol cars. On weekends there was only one guard who manned the security gate. While Mozzie distracted him with colorful tales of his fictitious birding adventures, Neal would circle around the back and enter the house through the scrubby woods on the side.

As Neal slipped out of the car and pulled on his custom gloves, the welcome adrenaline rush of a new job swept over him. The headache vanished. Gone were the concerns about Fiona. Even Keller was of no significance. Neal Caffrey—cat burglar extraordinaire—was back.

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Peter glanced at his watch. It was already three thirty. Neal had just left to approach the house from the side through the woods. It was time for Peter and Mozzie to move into position. He still couldn't believe he was saying that. He and Mozzie doing a stakeout together? Of all the changes Neal had brought to his life, perhaps none was so earth-shattering as that one.

Peter removed his scope and tripod from the SUV and headed for a clearing a few yards away. He set up his equipment and prepared to spend the next hour in apparent surveillance of the dunes.

"You do know what Snow Buntings look like, right?" Mozzie asked for the hundredth time. "Make sure you keep careful records of the rufous wash on the upperparts, the rusty cheek patch. Don't fall into the trap of counting Lapland Longspurs as Snow Buntings."

"Unless you fancy being turning into a jailbird, I'm going to focus on spotting the police, not buntings."

"But you promised! I'm counting on a third day of data to bolster my findings. The results will be sent to Cornell Lab of Ornithology for further analysis. They will be most displeased to hear a suit impeded the cause of science."

As he continued his harangue, Peter sighed. Neal better make quick work of this.

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Neal swung easily over the cedar fence along the side of the property. Mozzie had already given him the locations of the surveillance cameras. As he crouched in the bushes, he waited for Mozzie to approach the guard station. On a lonely Sunday afternoon, the guard would probably welcome a visitor as entertaining as Mozzie. He'd outlined his script to Neal and Peter on the ride over. Just a lonely birder looking for a little conversation, Mozzie intended to regale the guard with tales of inadvertent peeping Tom mishaps and intimate moments which he couldn't help witnessing when the birds he was observing flew too close to bedroom windows. Mozzie was a master storyteller. Neal suspected he'd be out of the house before Mozzie finished.

Neal crept up to the back door. Ranzig keypad. Top of the line, but Mozzie's new device made it possible to extract the passcode with a few twists of the dial. Mozzie had made Neal promise not to reveal anything to the Bureau about the device, which Mozzie had nicknamed Gert. Why, he didn't tell him. But thanks to Gert, Neal was inside the house within five minutes.

Mozzie had made friends with the guard on a previous visit and had been able to judge from the equipment in the guardhouse that there were no live feeds coming in, but that didn't mean there weren't hidden cameras. Neal checked around and felt better when he discovered one in the bedroom. He quickly disabled it.

The house was all on one floor with tall cathedral ceilings and French patio doors along the side facing the ocean. The furnishings were Italian contemporary with art objects scattered throughout. Finding the small bronze cat took only a minute since it was prominently displayed in a bookcase. Neal opened his backpack and took out lightweight protective wrap. He paused for a moment to admire it. No wonder Raquel wanted it back. Her photo hadn't done it justice. The inlaid silver sun-disc was spectacular. The gold earrings and nose ring gave it a saucy appearance. _Did you once belong to a pirate? Well, you do now._

Neal checked his watch. Only twenty minutes had elapsed since he left the others. They'd estimated he could safely spend an hour before needing to leave. Next item was the computer. Neal found the study off the master bedroom. The computer was a large desktop model. Getting out his tools, Neal removed the back and extracted the hard drive. The hard drive copier caddy Travis had provided was only a little larger than two hard drives placed on top of each other. The electronics were on a side panel. Neal plugged in Huber's hard drive to the caddy and began copying the files. Travis had warned him it might take at least fifteen minutes, which gave him time for additional reconnaissance.

Neal smiled. In his experience as a cat burglar, bedrooms were generally productive. Huber's was no exception. Behind an oil painting he found the wall safe. Neal quickly got out his tools and within minutes had it open. Jewels, cash—those he examined and left alone. But one item was more interesting—a single sheet of handwritten paper encased in an acid-free protective sleeve. The paper had suffered smoke damage and had been partially burnt, but a list of names was still legible. It was ledger-sized and written in German. After a quick scan, Neal pulled out his camera from his backpack and took several photos. He replaced the paper in the safe and examined the other contents. At the back of the safe was a small archival box. Inside was a journal. It was old and in bad condition, with water spots and stains. Neal placed it on a table and began photographing each page. The pages were so brittle he had to take painstaking care which slowed the process considerably. Some of the pages were loose. Others had been ripped. There was one page of equations that had been slipped inside. As Neal continued to photograph the journal, the sun sank ever lower in the sky. Twilight was fast approaching.

He heard Peter's voice in his ear. "Neal, get out of there. We need to leave before dark."

He placed the book back in its protective box and returned it to the safe. With a final check of the bedroom, he closed the safe and reactivated the camera. The caddy had finished copying the hard drive. He replaced the hard drive, and with one final look, slipped out the back door and rearmed the security system.

 **Federal Building. Monday morning.**

The work on processing Neal's discoveries began that same evening and by late morning the next day Peter was able to call Jones, Travis, Diana and Neal together for a status update. The bronze cat sat smugly in the center of the conference room table, appearing to bask in all the attention it was receiving.

"I called Raquel last night when I returned home," Neal told the others. "I'll take the cat to her hotel midday and she's promised to let me photograph and take measurements of the ring. Raquel told me that Keller saw the ring a couple of years ago when she'd lent it to the Ca' Pesaro Museum for an exhibit on ancient Egyptian artifacts. He could have obtained photographs, so I need to match it as precisely as possible."

"I finished my research on the cat," Jones said. "It's not listed on Interpol's database of stolen artifacts, but you'd have to call its lack of provenance suspicious."

"We're going to wave that," Peter said, noting with amusement Neal's grateful mouthing of a silent _Thank you_. "Since there's no record of Raquel having stolen it, I'm going to give her a pass. In a way she did us a big favor by bringing Huber to our attention. He and Keller are much bigger fish than she is." He turned to Travis. "Anything pop up yet from the contents of the drive?"

He shook his head. "Not so far. Jones and I will be spending the next few days processing the data. There are several gigs of files to go through."

Peter had tasked Diana with coordinating the research on the items Neal photographed from the safe. "We sent Neal's photos of the journal to the translation team for processing," she reported. "Neal and I've been working on the list ourselves, but he doesn't have enough time this week to translate the journal too."

"Fifteen paintings are on the list," Neal added, pointing to a photo of the document which was displayed on the wall monitor. "Their names are written in German. As you can see, the paper is partially burnt and suffered smoke damage, with the bottom of the page missing. Judging from the width of the paper and expected length, there were perhaps five additional paintings. The paper itself is over fifty years old. It could easily date from the period of World War II. I researched the paintings last night. They were all looted by the Nazis and are listed as currently missing. The list includes some of the most famous paintings which so far have not been recovered: Murillo's _St. Justa_ , Pissarro's _Rue de Village_ , Picasso's _Naked Woman on the Beach_ , _Harlequin and Columbine_ by Degas, and works by Matisse and Renoir. The most valuable is unquestionably _Portrait of a Young Man_ by Raphael."

"Could this be a shipping manifest for looted works?" Jones speculated, voicing what they probably were all thinking. "We've just begun to research Huber's childhood. His age of sixty-two means that he was born during the war. According to immigration records, his mother came to the States in the fifties. She was trained as a biologist and worked in Pennsylvania for a pharmaceuticals company. She's now deceased. I've contacted German authorities for assistance in researching the family's history in Germany."

"We should know more when the translation team finishes their work," Diana said. "They promise to have it ready by the end of the week." She turned to Jones. "You speculated on a sunken U-boat filled with treasure. If your theory is correct, it's possible this could be a partial manifest."

"Not only that," Peter noted, "but the data on the hard drive could establish a connection between Huber and Adler and by extension Adler to Ydrus. We know about Adler's ties to a marine salvage company. Huber runs a shipping company. Both have German backgrounds. Can this simply be a coincidence?" It wasn't likely in his opinion. The link between Adler and looted art had been mere speculation up to now. Now they had tangible evidence of Nazi plunder but no connection to Adler. Would the missing link be in the files? "Travis, that page of equations Neal found in the journal—any ideas?"

"It's a partial set of differential equations," Travis said. "Since it's not complete, it's difficult to say what it refers to."

"The paper is roughly the same age as that of the journal," Neal added.

"Perhaps whoever owned the journal was a mathematician," Diana mused.

"Would you like me to run it by Mozzie?" Neal asked.

Peter nodded. "He apparently has become our de facto expert on the abstruse and arcane. Let him take a shot at it."

"How about Keller?" Jones asked Neal. "Did he contact you yesterday?"

"He called last night. Wanted to know if I'd stolen the ring yet. He's not happy with my excuses and accused me of stalling. He also has been trying to pump me for information about the malware. He's heard a rumor about it, but it's clear he hasn't used it."

"How long will it take you to forge the ring?" Peter asked.

"I'm going to work on it starting this evening. If I can obtain the correct color of jasper, I should be able to finish it by Wednesday afternoon. Until we know about the Met, the rest of the schedule is a big unknown."

Neal was no longer sounding as confident as he had earlier, and Peter shared his unease. Convincing Giron and the Met to go along with their plan might require the sales job of the century.

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

At the conclusion of the meeting Neal wrapped the cat in protective wrap and placed it inside a Hermes shopping bag. If Keller saw him, he'd think he was taking a gift to Raquel, and so he was. Neal had breathed easier when Peter didn't make an issue of the cat's provenance. Raquel had likely obtained it through the black market from a grave robber. According to Klaus, that was the way she'd made most of her acquisitions. Since the items were never documented, she maintained a clean record.

When Neal arrived at the Pierre Hotel, Raquel was waiting for him in the lounge. Her face lit up when she saw his shopping bag. "For this, you need to come to my suite."

They rode the elevator up the thirty-sixth floor. Raquel's suite commanded a panoramic view of Central Park. When Neal walked over to the window, she drew close and slipped an arm around him. "Spectacular view, isn't it?"

He turned around to look at her and said with a smile, "Magnificent."

She brushed her lips on his neck. "Aren't you going to seduce me for the ring?"

"Would it help?" he murmured in her ear.

She pulled back and laughed. "No, but it would be highly enjoyable."

They moved over to her dining table. She put the box containing the cat on the table, unwrapped it, and scrutinized it with her jeweler's loupe.

"It's the cat I retrieved yesterday at Huber's," Neal assured her. "Not a copy."

"My love, I trust you . . . as I trust myself." She completed her examination and nodded with satisfaction. She withdrew into her bedroom and returned with a black leather jewelry box. Inside was the ring.

Neal carefully took the ring out of its holder and pulled out a small leather bag from his jacket which contained his measuring gauge, loupe, and caliper. Mozzie had lent him his digital scale. Neal was taking no chances. He wanted to make as exact a copy as he could. Travis had lent him his macro camera with circular flash to photograph the ring from every angle. Raquel left him alone while he worked.

When he finished, she said. "I leave for Boston this afternoon, but will be back on Wednesday. Will that give you enough time?"

"I believe so. I'll meet you for dinner on Wednesday evening. I'll tell Keller that's when I'll steal your ring."

She tilted her head to gaze at him. "Retrieving my cat, conning Keller . . . You must let me make the arrangements for Wednesday evening. It will be my treat."

Neal tossed her a mischievous grin. "What do you propose?"

 **Federal Building. Monday afternoon.**

By the time Neal got back to the Federal Building, it was nearly time for Martine Giron to arrive from Columbia. While he and Peter waited for her, he summarized the meeting with Raquel. "Afterward she ordered room service to maintain the illusion of our steamy romance."

"Did you spot Keller?"

Neal nodded. "He was loitering just outside the Federal Building when I left and followed me to the Pierre Hotel. I didn't see him when I returned. Raquel and I've agreed to have dinner on Wednesday evening. Afterward, I'll return with her to her suite. That will be when the supposed theft of the ring will occur."

Peter shook his head worriedly. "You're not leaving much margin for error for the ring."

"That can't be helped. The only unknown is acquiring a piece of jasper which matches the color, but Mozzie believes he has a source. The ring mount and sculpting won't present any problems." Neal didn't mention how much he was looking forward to working on it. He'd already forged two Egyptian rings under Klaus's tutelage. One contained a scarab in lapis lazuli and the other was adorned with a carnelian sculpture of a cat. The carnelian had been particularly elegant. Neal wondered what Klaus had done with the rings. He wished he'd kept photos.

Martine Giron arrived promptly at two o'clock. Her presence added an exotic flavor to the surroundings. With her jet-black hair and aquiline nose, she looked like she could have stepped out of an Egyptian tomb painting. She had a commanding low voice which her French accent served to reinforce.

Neal reintroduced Peter to Giron and they proceeded upstairs to the conference room. Although Neal and Sherkov had already met with her to discuss in general terms an FBI operation, this was the first time she'd heard the details, and her skepticism bordered on outrage. "You were wise to schedule the meeting at a formal FBI location rather than on campus. Otherwise, I would have dismissed your proposal as a practical joke."

Peter led her through the reasons why it was in the Met's interests to allow the sting to go forward. "The circumstances are similar to the operation we conducted last fall to prevent a painting by Vermeer from being stolen. FBI agents will be on location in the galleries. None of the items will be removed from their cases, and you'll be helping to bring down one the world's foremost art thieves. This is the best opportunity we've ever had to bring him down."

After a half-hour of tense and sometimes fractious discussion which made Neal thankful he wasn't taking a course with her this term, she reluctantly agreed to present their case to the curator of the Egyptian department at the Met. "Because of the extreme sensitivity of the exhibition, obtaining approval from the Director will take longer," she warned. "He's currently in Paris and returns on Monday. His approval will be essential for your plan to be implemented."

Neal listened with a growing sense of unease. He'd hoped to be able to schedule the op for Thursday night. Now he was going to have to hold Keller off till the following week. Keller was already impatient. With the Director gone till Monday, the earliest the heist could be scheduled would be in eight long days. Keller would be bored and that made him even more dangerous.

Once they'd escorted Giron to the elevator, Peter called Neal into his office. "Are you going to be able to manage the delay?"

"I'll have to," Neal said. "I intend to tell him the Met is implementing an upgrade to their security software and that I'll have to wait until it's installed before I can upload the malware."

"You think that will satisfy him?" Peter asked bluntly.

"It should. It happens all the time in the real world."

Peter tapped impatiently with his pen. "You're going to be working at Columbia the rest of the week. How are you going to explain that to Keller?"

"Already thought of that. I'm telling him I'm taking a few days off to work on my paintings for the convention."

Peter looked incredulous. "He'll buy that?"

"I believe so. I've told him the art competition at the convention counts toward my master's. Remember, I've already paved the way by claiming that excelling at Columbia is a key part of my plan to become the world's most successful art thief. Keller knows I dream big. This is exactly the sort of over-the-top ambition he would expect from me."

Neal left work after his meeting with Peter. He didn't plan to be back at the Bureau for the rest of the week unless something unexpected came up. When he exited the Federal Building it was early enough in the day that there were relatively few pedestrians. Keller was easy to spot as he emerged from a coffee shop. They walked together to the subway stop.

Keller wasn't a happy man. "Why didn't I hear from you yesterday?"

"Nothing to report," Neal said with a shrug. "I don't have it yet."

"Losing your touch, Caff? I saw you at the museum. You were all over Raquel. Don't tell me she resisted your charms."

"Hardly. We're both enjoying the game. Besides, what's the rush? You'll get the ring, but it's going to be a few days. Raquel left for Boston this afternoon. She'll be back on Wednesday. We're going out that evening and I'll steal it afterward. Besides, I haven't had a chance to upload the program." They arrived at the subway station and Keller accompanied Neal downstairs while he explained the delay for the software upgrade. "It's not my fault the Met scheduled the upgrade on me. You should be grateful I found out. If I'd already uploaded the malware, it might have been discovered and we would have had to call it off."

"How are you going gaining access to their server?" he demanded. "Who's your contact? How do I know this program you obtained is any good?"

"Yeah, right. Like I'm sharing my secrets with you? I'm not an idiot." He stopped at the bottom of the stairs to confront him. "You gonna have my money ready for the ring? No money, no deal."

"Caffrey, Caffrey, where's the trust?"

Neal snorted. "You taught me that. There is no trust."

"I'll have your money."

"Make sure you do. I'll be at the Oyster Bar at Grand Central on Thursday at noon. We'll make the exchange then."

Keller sighed as he looked around the platform. "I'm going to have a lot of time on my hands. It's getting lonely in New York. I thought I'd ring Fiona up. She looks like she works too hard. She'd enjoy some company. You don't mind, do you?"

Neal shrugged. "Go ahead. Just don't damage my reputation. I've worked too long on getting this con established. I'm sitting on a goldmine and intend to plunder it for years. Don't wreck it."

"You've grown up, Caff. I'm glad we see eye to eye. I always knew we were alike." Keller slapped him on the back. "See ya around," he added and melted into the crowd.

As soon as Neal got home, he called Fiona. He was relieved to hear she was still at work. That at least provided a measure of protection. He was more than ever convinced Keller would contact her again. Keller was too cagey not to believe Neal was playing him. "I did my best to show him I didn't care. That's the only tool I have."

"You worry too much. I can handle him. It wouldn't be the first time I had to tell someone to back off."

"I'm sure that's right." That didn't sound right. Neal paused and restarted. "You know how sorry—"

"Don't apologize," she said. "I understand. How much longer do you think this will go on?"

"Next week we should have Keller behind bars." They spent a few more minutes talking. Fiona wanted to discuss some new music she'd found for the band to play, but Neal had a difficult time focusing on it. She brought up the video. She and Angela would finalize recording the soundtrack Wednesday evening with Richard. It was clear she was hoping he'd join them. How could he tell her that instead he'd be on a date with Raquel where he needed to convince Keller he was seducing her?

 **Burke home, Brooklyn. Monday evening.**

Peter stopped off for pizza on the way home Monday evening. A new place had opened up next door to the dry cleaners. El, ever the wise wife, had quickly realized it was much easier for Peter to remember dinner than dry cleaning. It had become a tradition that pizza was on the menu whenever clothes needed to be picked up.

When he opened the door, pizza in one hand and garments in the other, he felt like the ultimate husband. "Hey, hon, see I remem—"

She shushed him with a hand as she talked on the phone. "Great idea, Fiona! Yes, that won't be a problem. How about dessert? . . . Oh, really?"

Peter chuckled as he hung up the dry cleaning. What were the two of them scheming? At least he hadn't heard any mention of Keller. That was a refreshing change.

Taking the pizza into the kitchen, Peter put it in the oven to stay warm. A few minutes later, El joined him in the kitchen. He handed her a glass of wine and demanded details of the phone call.

"First you have to promise me you'll keep it a secret, even from Neal."

"Hon, I didn't tell him when Henry was investigating Fowler on his own. I can keep a secret."

El smiled. "I told Fiona you could handle it, and it will be so much easier if you're in on it. Fiona and Angela are planning a surprise party for Sunday night. They want to have a celebration after the convention. It's irrelevant if anyone wins anything. Richard, Aidan, and Neal have put in so much work into Tac-Con—not to mention Mozzie and the others—that it's worth celebrating."

Peter endorsed the concept wholeheartedly. "Who all is in the know?"

El ticked off the names on her fingers. "All the women—Fiona, Angela, Keiko, and Janet. The only male who's been admitted into the conspiracy is Michael, and there are extenuating circumstances."

"I didn't realize Michael was involved with the video."

"He voiced one of the characters and is a member of the band. It turns out Michael has a hidden talent. He's an excellent cake baker."

"Are we talking about the same Michael? Art historian, computer geek, musician wannabe Michael?'

"The very same. Angela found out about his talent when he made her a carrot cake shaped like a rabbit for Valentine's Day. This was no ordinary carrot cake but double chocolate decadence with mocha frosting."

Peter pulled the pizza out from the oven. "But does he supply dinner with the dry cleaning?"

"Hardly likely. Only you could be that good." El reached into the kitchen cabinet for two plates. "Angela promises that he'll reveal nothing. Fiona has reserved the party room in the university student center. That's the same facility they used at Thanksgiving."

"Did she mention anything about Keller?"

"She didn't bring him up, but I asked her. She seems to be coping well, but I'll know more tomorrow. We're going to meet tomorrow for lunch. I'll go straight to June's from there."

Peter was glad to hear about the party plans. Neal was being forced to conduct a much longer con with Keller than they'd originally anticipated. The typical con needed to last for only a few hours. This one would be continuing for over two weeks. When Neal had been undercover with Klaus Mansfeld in the fall, he'd maintained his cover for seven days, and Peter remembered well the stress issues that were caused by it. Henry's warning was still ringing in his ears. Any diversions like the convention or the party could make the difference between a successful con and one that blew up in their faces.

* * *

 ** _Notes_** _: Mozzie was a major player in this chapter, and he insisted that my post for the blog also be about him. The post is called "The Imp on His Shoulder." Penna's new post is "Playing Hide and Seek in the Caffrey Conversation AU" where she writes about the theme of hide and seek in our series—not only the physical game but also the mental versions._

 _The paintings mentioned in this chapter are all works that were seized during World War II. I've pinned several of the paintings listed on the shipping manifest to The Mirror board of our Caffrey Conversation Pinterest site_ _as well as other visuals for the chapter._

 _We're a little past the midway point in the story. In the next chapter, Peter receives troubling news at work, Neal works on a game-changing strategy, and Mozzie has a long-anticipated meeting with Diana and Tricia._

 _Thanks as always to Penna for her beta awesomeness and to you for reading and your comments!_

 ** _Blog_** _: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation_ _  
 **Chapter Visuals and Music** : The Mirror board on the Caffrey Conversation Pinterest website_


	10. Controlling the Middlegame

**Chapter 10: Controlling the Middlegame**

 **Federal Building. February 22, 2005. Tuesday morning.**

With Neal scheduled to work at the university for the next two days, Peter was free to focus on the team's other cases. On Tuesday he spent an hour with Jones reviewing his progress on the Dutchman sting. Jones reported that he'd placed feelers online and through contacts. A fence in London had gotten back to him, indicating he might know of a seller. In the meantime they weren't having any success in their efforts to track Hagen down by conventional means.

Midmorning Hughes dropped in on Peter. Judging from the somber expression on his face, Peter didn't need to be a mind reader to know his news wasn't going to be good.

"I heard from John Hobhouse in Interpol," Hughes said. "He's back in London now. We discussed the staffing issue for his task force. John was frank. He didn't mince words at how Kramer is campaigning to be on the task force. He's writing Interpol directly, going over John's head. I can tell you John isn't pleased at his tactics. Kramer's doing himself and the Bureau a disservice by engaging in so much self-promotion."

"Interpol must view him as the typical pushy American," Peter said, shaking his head.

Hughes nodded his agreement. "John was impressed by you and Caffrey. I feel if he had his way, you two would be appointed. But Kramer isn't the only issue. Interpol is raising flags about having someone with Caffrey's history working closely with museums and their security systems. John is bringing up his record over the past year to prove how valuable that experience can be, but it may not be enough."

Although not a surprise, it was disappointing. For Peter, it didn't make much of a difference, but he knew how excited Neal was over the prospect of working on the task force.

"Here's the particularly troubling part," Hughes added. "Kramer has been bringing up Caffrey's past with the top people at Interpol. John is close with one of them who reported off the record that Kramer told him about the incident last fall when Caffrey was suspected of having robbed the FBI vault. John wanted to hear my side of the story."

"That was supposed to be confidential," Peter protested angrily. "Can charges be filed?"

"I wish, but Kramer was too clever. Nothing was in writing and it was related confidentially. If we filed a protest, he'd simply deny it." Hughes paused. "I trust you to ensure that what I've told you goes no further than these walls. But Kramer's on my watch list now, and I'm sure he's also on yours."

Peter nodded. He could hear Kramer talking in his head. _Petey, I'm simply protecting FBI interests and reporting what actually went on. You've gotten too close to Neal. He's your friend. You've forgotten that being a con is hardwired into his brain._ Kramer had warned him to be careful when he recruited Neal. His former mentor refused to believe people can change.

"John's not giving up," Hughes added, giving a low chuckle. "Caffrey scored a home run with him. I think he reminds John of some of the grad students his wife used to have over to their house in happier times. He said that the decision will be made in the next few days."

Peter was glad Hughes had alerted him. Although nothing definite had been decided, he needed to start thinking of ways to soften the blow. If Kramer were raising so many obstacles to Neal's participation on the task force, he would no doubt also veto any attempts to share art crime investigations with New York. Neal was being wise to pursue a PhD and keep his options open. As Neal built up a longer service record, Peter might be able to win Kramer over. But as long as Kramer continued to stonewall him, what kind of future would Neal have with the FBI?

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

On Tuesday morning Neal got an early start for Prentis Hall where Columbia's metalworking shop was located. Aidan had his studio there and was letting him use it to store his equipment and supplies. Neal planned to work during the day when Aidan was at his job.

An additional advantage to Prentis was its location. Because of the rough neighborhood it was located in, the university enforced heightened security measures with controlled access. Keller couldn't just drop in on him, and at night if Keller broke in, there'd be nothing to find. As an additional precaution, Neal approached Prentis by traversing the main campus underground in the tunnels. He entered the tunnel system through a locked entrance in the basement of Low Library and was confident that Keller couldn't follow him without his knowledge.

He planned to devote the morning to carving the mold for the ring mount. If all went smoothly, he'd cast it later this afternoon. Tomorrow was slated for the delicate work of ageing the ring and carving the jasper. For that, he was counting on Mozzie being able to track down a duplicate of the jasper's color. Otherwise he'd have to rely on a synthetic stone, which for an expert like Keller was a risk he preferred to avoid. He was going to breathe easier when he had that stone in hand.

By midday Neal felt more confident. No hiccups with the mold, and Mozzie had called to say he'd found the jasper. Neal finished early enough that he didn't feel guilty in returning home to help June prepare for what Neal called the summit conference. This was Mozzie's first time to meet Tricia and Diana in person. And despite all the advance negotiations that had preceded it, Neal still felt like he was hosting disarmament talks.

When he arrived at the mansion, June was preparing the seating arrangements while making last minute consultations with the staff on refreshments.

"Oh my," she said, collapsing into a chair. "I'm going to need a stiff drink when this is done."

"Would you like one in advance?" Neal offered. "I could make it in a coffee cup. They'd never know."

June laughed. "I'd be like Dean Martin. Let's keep that thought in reserve. If I finger my necklace, that will be your signal to come to my rescue."

"What would you like your poison to be?"

The ring of a doorbell interrupted her reply. "That's probably Elizabeth. She mentioned she might be early. I think Maria's in the kitchen."

Neal gestured for her to stay sitting and went to the entry to let El in.

"Am I the first?" she asked when Neal greeted her.

He nodded. "How many pages of suggestions did you bring?"

"Only three. One for me. Most of them are from Peter. Once he got started, I couldn't get him to stop." They walked into the living room where June rose to greet her. Giving her a kiss, El thanked her for letting her attend.

"We're the ones who should thank you. Mozzie likes you so well, he'll be on his best behavior."

June had suggested they use the dining room for their meeting. The double leaded glass doors provided privacy from the staff, but her main reason was that Mozzie would have less room to hide. Neal didn't think that was going to be a problem. Diana held the reins of power to his character and she was also guardian of an abstruse code. In Mozzie's eyes, Diana had been transformed into a Siren—perilous but irresistible.

By two o'clock they were all gathered around June's table. She had coffee and tea available and had put out a plate of biscotti. Mozzie brought along a bottle of honey wine. A peace offering? Or to fortify himself for what was to come? Or both?

As it turned out, the meeting went surprisingly well with a minimum of head bashing. Neal was certain it hadn't been Diana's original intention to write by committee, but she took it in stride and was gracious in accepting their offers of assistance. She reveled in her leadership role, and for Neal it was a welcome relief to brainstorm with the others after a morning of working by himself on the ring. Diana started off with a discussion of the characters.

"For my character, I'd like her last name to be Parker," June said.

Diana shook her head doubtfully as she pulled up a spreadsheet on her laptop. "I don't believe Lovecraft used that surname. I've been trying to incorporate Lovecraft's name choices as much as possible. Does Parker have a special significance?"

She nodded. "It's in honor of Charlie Parker, a saxophonist. He revolutionized jazz in the 1940s. And actually the name Parker was used by Lovecraft in 'The Call of Cthulhu.' A minor character—he disappeared into a vault and was never heard of again—but he'll do."

"Excellent choice," seconded Mozzie. "Charlie Parker was an icon for the Beat Generation, for nonconformists and bohemian hedonists. Allen Ginsberg was a big fan. " He turned to Tricia. "You must approve. I hear you had your own rebellious youth."

"Neal told you about my college days, did he?" Tricia said with a grin. "Very few at the Bureau know about that. It'll be our secret."

When Mozzie gave her a wink and held up a finger in front of his lips, Neal knew he could relax. The peace accord had been signed.

"Byron met Charlie Parker not long before he passed away," June added while Diana took notes. "I envision Byron as having taught jazz at Miskatonic University."

Mozzie nodded approvingly. "After his performing success, he would have wanted to mentor a younger generation."

June and Mozzie started filling in the account of Byron's years at Miskatonic University in dizzying detail. Not surprisingly Mozzie saw his character as a close friend of June and Byron's. Diana was having a hard time keeping up with all their anecdotes.

"Should we include a jazz festival?" Mozzie asked.

"Of course!" June agreed excitedly. "A summer jazz festival sponsored by the university. All the jazz greats would have attended."

Diana stared at them wild-eyed. "I'm not sure if I can fit a jazz festival into Lovecraft."

June patted her hand. "A passing reference will suffice."

"But getting back to my character," Mozzie said impatiently. "I've started a list of quotes for you to use, reflective of my genius. I believe I mentioned the intellect of Einstein—"

"—At least twenty times," Diana muttered.

Mozzie continued undeterred. "But I'm much more handsome than he was. Also tall. I must be tall." He gazed dreamily up at the ceiling. "I should have long flowing hair, brushed back—like Viggo Mortensen in _Lord of the Rings_. I should also have his sex appeal. Women will fall at my feet." He stopped to glance at her. "Are you getting all this down? Should I repeat it?"

For once Diana was speechless. Neal took advantage of the brief pause before the inevitable hailstorm to mutter to his friend, "You don't want to overwhelm her. Save the good stuff for later."

Mozzie ignored him. He pulled out a sheaf of papers from his bag. "I've jotted down a few ideas for my sexcapades to get you started."

The tempest couldn't be contained any longer. "Mozzie! I most definitely am not going to write about your—"

June hurriedly broke in. "Would you like another biscotti, dear?" She murmured to Diana in an aside, "Don't worry. I'll talk with him."

El, the master diplomat, turned to Mozzie. "Personally, I've always been intrigued by a man who is an enigma. Diana may wish to increase the anticipation by not revealing all the fascinating aspects of your character at first. She can tease us and make us yearn for more." She then pulled out her own manila folder. "Diana, I'm quite happy with how you portrayed me. Peter asked me to share a few tweaks for his character, mainly concerning his interactions with Neal's character."

"What's he proposing?" Neal asked warily.

"Nothing very different from real life. You are in awe of him, aren't you?"

"Absolutely," he agreed.

"In case you forget, I'm writing this down," Diana said. "What about you, Neal? Are you going to present me with a long list of qualities you want to possess? Ability to fly? Maybe turn invisible?"

Neal laughed and shook his head. "You already turned down my request to be Indiana Jones. Have you changed your mind?"

"No, you're the dreamer. Peter's Indiana Jones."

"What?" El interrupted, "Peter's Indy? He never told me that. Oh, be still, my heart."

Diana grinned. "Peter's smoking hot in my stories. Don't groan, Neal. You'll have your moments too."

"Maybe I'm the Lord Byron type? Romantic idealist? I think I'd be good at that."

"For Neal and Peter, it's especially important they be made as sympathetic as possible," Tricia said. "Plus we need to incorporate that element of mystery—and not just one, but several—to keep Azathoth intrigued."

Mozzie helped himself to a biscotti and waved it around as if it were a conductor's baton. "Diana will be like Scheherazade spinning her tales for the king. If she uses half of the ideas I supplied her with, she'll be able to keep Azathoth enthralled for years."

"Make that decades," Diana muttered.

"But where's the romance in Neal's life?" Mozzie asked plaintively. "He needs a sad story in his past. The seventies are a period of disillusionment and alienation. That should be reflected in his character. Kate could be useful."

Neal held up a warning hand at that notion. "Not Kate. I know you think she was a Mata Hari, but I'm vetoing that."

Diana was quick to shoot down his request. "Sorry, Caffrey, but you have no veto power." She turned to Mozzie. "What do you have in mind?"

He stroked his chin. "I picture a rehabilitated Kate, a shining tragic angel." Mozzie expounded on his idea and even Neal had to admit it had merit.

As the others tossed out ideas for what could have happened in his past, Neal found it at first disconcerting. His actual childhood had its share of mysteries and misfortunes, but they were mild compared to what the others were discussing. Tricia could be right in the value of the stories. He was already starting to feel protective about Neal Carter as if he were his younger brother.

"And not only Kate, we should have someone else," Diana said. "Perhaps Fiona."

"No," Neal protested, maybe a tad more forcefully than he'd intended as everyone stopped to stare at him. "Leave Fiona out of this. The same goes for my relatives. Make Neal an orphan or give him crazy parents—I don't care—but don't toss in my real family."

"Calm down," Diana said, making what she probably considered to be a soothing gesture with her hand but which only served to infuriate him. "Sheesh. This is what I get for allowing input in _my_ stories. But I can adjust. Sara will do nicely."

Neal was flummoxed. "Sara? Seriously?"

"Yes, Sara," she repeated forcefully. "After all, you invented Tiffany to be your fake girlfriend. Neal Carter needs someone similar."

"Then call her Tiffany."

"That name wasn't popular for babies born in the '50s. Sara, on the other hand, was commonly used in the period. I'm trying for historical accuracy," she added with a look that brooked no rebuttal. "Besides it's easier for me to base my characters off real people. You have to admit Sara has many of Tiffany's characteristics—red hair, adventurous, a little loony. I saw how Sara and you interacted when she came to the Bureau to consult on the Corot forgery. You showing off—"

"I wasn't showing off," he protested.

"Yes, you were and don't interrupt. Your banter with each other is just the effect I'm looking for. But I'll toss you a bone. I'll name her Sarah with an _h_ at the end."

Diana made a valid point. Neal had created Tiffany in December to keep Fiona from being targeted, and he was using the same tactic with Keller. Perhaps Neal Carter needed a decoy girlfriend in his life, too.

"Be sure to make her feisty," June urged. "She needs an attitude."

"Oh, she'll have an attitude, all right. I want a Lois Lane type."

The first half of the meeting wrapped up with Mozzie and Diana agreeing to have weekly sessions at June's. Tricia planned to attend as many of the meetings as she could fit in her schedule and El also volunteered to assist. But the real winner in this was Mozzie who would be spending his Tuesday afternoons with four witty and charming women. By his look of euphoria, he was clearly aware of it. "We should give ourselves a name," he urged. "Since Diana's calling her stories the Arkham Files, the Arkham Round Table is fitting."

"Oh really?" Diana said skeptically. "Notice any problem with that? June's table is a rectangle."

"Exactly," Mozzie said smugly. "Now you understand."

El and Tricia departed at three o'clock, and Neal was anxious to resume his work on the ring. Mozzie and Diana could work on the code without him. When he got up to leave, Mozzie followed him into the entry and handed him a small box.

Neal raised the lid to examine the jasper stone inside. "The color's perfect just like you said. Thanks, Mozz. Were you able to get the tools?"

"Yes, the Mole is providing them." The Mole was a mysterious friend of Mozzie's who had helped him construct his bunker at the Emporium. Neal had never met the Mole but had learned to admire his multifaceted talents. "The Mole is no friend of Keller. He was happy to lend you his lapidary tools—knives, saws, chisels, everything you need. I'll bring them over to Prentis later today."

Neal pocketed the stone and returned to his studio to cast the ring. Mozzie would meet Travis and Peter for dinner at the Flying Saucer Pizza Company and from there they'd go to the SETI meeting. Travis had introduced Mozzie to the restaurant and it had become one of his favorite haunts. Mozzie claimed all the science fiction memorabilia made him feel among friends.

Travis had scored a major coup to get Mozzie to agree to meet him and Peter for dinner. A few months ago Neal would have scoffed at the idea that Mozzie would sit down for dinner with two suits, even if one was a Space Suit. Mozzie didn't even attempt to talk Neal out of attending his seminar so he could go along.

Neal predicted that by the end of the evening both Peter and Mozzie would sign up for the workshops. Peter had already mentioned that El was enthusiastic about them, and Mozzie had a soft spot for kids that he hadn't been able to indulge recently. What would the workshops be like with Travis, Mozzie, and Peter all acting as mentors? Neal grinned. That was going to be one lucky group of kids.

 **Burke residence. Tuesday evening.**

It was late by the time Peter returned home from the meeting. El was already in her robe. She'd put on a record of a jazz saxophonist and was reading an anthology of horror stories when he walked in. Satchmo was curled up on the rug in front of her.

"Mind if I join you? I'll bring nightcaps," he added enticingly.

"Yes, please, and after reading about monsters clanging in the dark, I could use my handsome Indy sitting next to me." She patted the cushion next to her.

"So Diana told you about my character," he said with a chuckle.

"And so much more. It was quite an afternoon."

Peter went to the kitchen and poured out a glass of chardonnay for her and a beer for himself. Returning to the living room, he sat down beside her. "Don't keep me in suspense. I need details."

"First tell me about your evening. Did you like the restaurant?"

"It was the perfect choice. I'd wondered whether Mozzie would even appear. After all, he was meeting with two members of the FBI without having Neal there as a buffer. That has to be an event of cosmic significance. But I needn't have worried. We had a booth next to life-size figures of a Klingon warrior and Picard in his Borg Collective transformation. Mozzie and Travis were like two kids at an amusement park."

"I suspect you were enjoying yourself just as much," she said with a laugh. "How did the meeting go? Do you like Leavitt?"

"I was impressed. His enthusiasm about teaching astronomy to inner city kids is infectious. Leavitt's reaching out to the science teachers. Apparently there's already an astronomy club initiative in public schools. We aim to hold the workshops once a month on Saturday afternoons."

"It sounds like you've already signed up."

"Are you sure you don't mind? It would mean less together time for us on weekends."

"Saturday afternoons I'm often gone, either at events or at community theater rehearsals. You could entertain me over dinner with tales of the kids. Besides, you've often told me how much you enjoyed your astronomy club in Albany."

"There will be a group of us, so if I can't make some of the workshops it won't be an issue, and I have to admit I enjoyed being on campus. It will be like volunteering at my kid's school, and I may be able to attend more of Neal's fencing matches." Peter picked up his beer glass and sat back on the couch. "Your turn. Mozzie didn't say anything about the afternoon, but I gather from his mood that no land mines were set off."

She nodded, taking a sip of wine. "You thought Mozzie was in his element at the pizza restaurant. I'd say he was transported to heaven this afternoon. You should have seen him beam at being surrounded by all us women. Diana was surprisingly tolerant. When I left, the two of them were huddled together working on a response to the code. Tricia was even more a success. Those student protests she attended in college were her winning ticket to his good will. Mozzie has now embraced her as a fellow member of the environmental proletariat and is choosing to ignore her reprehensible association with the Bureau."

"Now wait a minute. Do I have to worry about Mozzie turning the lot of you into a group of radicals?"

El gave him a kiss. "You're safe. Tricia and my days of protesting are long behind us."

"Where was Neal during all this?"

"He was participating but on the quiet side. I don't think he's very comfortable with some of the story ideas, particularly the ones including Kate and Sara."

"What? Diana's injected Kate into the stories?"

After El explained Diana's concept, Peter admitted it made sense; although he could understand how Neal would feel awkward to talk about it. Peter was pleased to hear that his own suggestions had been adopted. Having El as his agent to watch over his story line was a master stroke.

"Was the lunch with Fiona equally a success?" he asked.

She nodded. "I've wanted to have the opportunity for us to have girl talk for a long time. We also discussed the Keller situation."

"And your conclusion?"

El paused to consider. "I'd say she's handling it very well. She's being careful—walking with friends on campus and being vigilant when she's out in public. Neal's intentions are good, but he's adding to her stress by calling her so often to check up on her. He's only succeeding in increasing her anxiety about what Keller may do to him."

Peter sighed. He wasn't surprised at her words. "I now understand why Neal and Henry keep each other in the dark so much. That's their way of not only shielding the other person but it also gives them the confidence to pursue whatever crazy scheme they've concocted."

"You're right. One of the reasons Fiona decided to throw a celebration party was to give herself something else to focus on and she hopes it will give Neal a chance to relax, too. She and Angela are having great fun being party schemers. The three of us are going to meet later this week at the student center to finalize details."

"At first I thought Tac-Con would be too much of a distraction during an op like this, but it's turning out to be just what Neal needs—a break from thinking about Keller."

"How dangerous do you think Keller is to Fiona?"

"According to Neal, in the past his violence was only directed to members of his crew who failed to perform. Based on everything I know, Keller is more a nuisance than a threat to Fiona. We'd talked about a safe house, but Neal feels that would simply alert Keller to her being an excellent target. And with her job and classes, it's not realistic to think she could put everything on hold till the operation is over."

"So what you're saying is Fiona's right to be concerned. Neal will be the target, not her."

He put an arm around her. "He knows that, hon. We all do. We're providing all the protection we can, but we can't eliminate the risk."

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Neal returned to Aidan's studio early on Wednesday morning. He planned to spend the first several hours on cutting the jasper to size. Once that was completed, it was time to inscribe it.

Carving the stone was the most challenging aspect. He could have made a tracing of the hieroglyphics, but he found it more natural to trust his eyes. As he patiently engraved the design, Neal felt a kinship with the Ancient Egyptian craftsman who made the original—only instead of sitting cross-legged in a tent in the desert, he was perched on a stool and had the aid of a large fluorescent magnifying lamp.

Prentis Hall was quiet at that time of day. The few students who were there were busy on their own work. It wasn't difficult to hear the whispers of long-dead craftsmen around him. Neal paused to look at his jeans. He should have asked Mozzie for a linen kilt to wear. Peter had called to say he was bringing lunch over. What would he have said to the sight of Neal in a kilt?

Peter would probably stop at his favorite deli on the way and bring pastrami sandwiches. They weren't Neal's favorite, but after a morning of intense work by himself, he was looking forward to the company.

By the time Peter showed up, Neal had finished the carving and was already ageing the stone.

"What did you get?" Neal asked, sniffing the air. The spicy aroma was making his mouth water. "That's not pastrami. Are you going international on me?"

Peter smiled smugly as he pulled the containers out of the bag. "I asked El to recommend a place nearby, and she'd heard of the Jin Ramen shop down the block. I got the spicy tonkotsu ramen with pork. It's supposed to be their specialty."

"You couldn't have picked better," Neal said. "I would have suggested Jin Ramen but didn't know if you'd care for it."

"Having you as my consultant has introduced me foods I've never known. You're like the Globetrotting Gourmet." He handed Neal his bowl and spoon and pulled two water bottles out of his bag.

"Just wait till you're traveling the globe for Interpol. A world of taste sensations awaits you."

"I don't have to leave New York for that and even if I'm picked, the work will mainly be telecommuting. Boring stuff. I'm not sure I'm even interested. Besides, you know I don't like to travel."

"You'll learn to love it, and Interpol needs you."

Peter paused eating to eye him. "You don't sound very optimistic about your own chances."

"Simply being realistic. Kramer's played turf games all year. He'll fight hard for a spot, and he's the natural pick. You'll have a chance to work with your former mentor. You'll enjoy it." Neal was curious to see how Peter would react. As expected, he didn't try to dissuade him. That was telling, but he already knew he was a long shot. Had Peter heard something and was trying to prepare him by emphasizing New York's international flavor?

This was Peter's first time to see Aidan's studio and he was clearly fascinated by all the electronic gear Aidan had stuffed it with. "Not a paintbrush in sight. It looks more like the lab at White Collar than an artist's studio."

"Aidan works exclusively with digital media. For the video, Richard and I did all the artwork which he then digitized and animated."

"And in the midst of all this you've set up your sculpture workshop. How's the stone coming?"

"I'm down to the last step. I've switched gears from Egyptian sculptor to master forger." Neal pointed to the photos laid out on the table. "I need to take this ring and make it look as old as the original."

Peter put down his bowl to examine the ring, comparing it to the photos. "Who taught you how to do this?"

Neal hesitated a moment, but didn't see any harm in revealing it. "Klaus. He had me work in a number of media—stone, papyrus, gold."

"Should I ask if any of your works are in museums?"

"Gee, I don't know, Peter. I didn't put them there. I can't vouch for Klaus, though, and it's a little late to ask him."

"I suppose I can't give you any grief over it. Your skill's proving useful now."

"You know sometimes I wonder if that's why Sherkov sponsored me for the PhD program."

"What are you talking about?"

"He saw the painting I'd done for you at Christmas. That was an unintentional slip on my part since it demonstrated my ability at forgery. He made a comment then that he was taking it as a personal challenge to keep me from being tempted."

"And what if he had? Don't overwork it," he advised. "Take it that Sherkov recognized your talent and leave it at that. Some things shouldn't be examined too closely." Before Neal could ask him what he meant, Peter switched topics. "What would Klaus have said if I'd been able to ask him about Keller?"

"Nothing good," Neal paused, thinking back to their discussions. "Keller was a competitor. Klaus called him a hyena—a scavenger who lived off the work of others."

"Did he have a nickname for you?"

Neal grinned. "Not Baby Bear I can assure you."

"So he did give you a nickname." Peter's eyes lit up. "C'mon, spill it."

Neal shook his head adamantly. "Not happening. I'll never live down Baby Bear. I don't need another one hung around my neck."

"Even if I promise never to tell anyone else?"

"Like in winter survival boot camp last month?" Neal considered for a moment. "What do I get in exchange? Your nickname?" A look of dismay flashed across Peter's face. "Yes! You've been holding out on me. You do have a nickname! I demand to know."

Peter groaned. "Okay, but this is like last time. We keep this private."

"Agreed, and in a token of good faith, I'll go first."

"Wait, don't tell me. Klaus was the Leopard. You had to be the Jungle Boy." Peter broke into a wide smile. "I'm right, aren't I? Raised by wolves, befriended by a leopard—you're Mowgli."

"Not quite, but close," Neal said with a laugh. "Klaus called me Lion Cub."

"Now that's revealing." Peter stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Keller was a hyena. You're a lion. Klaus liked to view himself as prowling the jungle."

Neal nodded. "No boundaries or restraints. Free to do whatever he wanted. And then there's that element of danger that the jungle brings—Klaus was addicted to the rush of being surrounded by threats and hidden perils and conquering them all."

"You were too, weren't you?"

Neal shrugged. "You know that. I've switched addictions to the rush of stopping a heist rather than succeeding in one. Klaus liked to tell me one day we'd rule the jungle jointly. Calling me a cub was also his way of smacking me down when I acted up." He glanced at Peter, uneasy at having revealed so much. Was Peter going to take it the wrong way? Eager to change the subject, Neal propped his elbows on the table, and resting his chin on his fisted hands, gave Peter the full benefit of his most annoying wide-eyed stare. "Your turn."

Peter chuckled. "Okay, wiseguy, Mom nicknamed me Pluto when I was seven."

"Pluto the planet?"

"No, Pluto the dog."

Neal restrained himself to one snort. "I loved Betty from the moment I met her, but now I adore her."

Peter rolled his eyes gratifyingly. "Simmer down, Baby Bear."

"Was it because of the endearing way you galumphed around the yard? Or your lopsided ears? Or were you already exhibiting bloodhound characteristics at an early age?"

"None of the above." Peter said, looking sheepish. "It was because of the way I dug up her flower beds looking for dinosaur bones."

Neal couldn't contain his laughter any longer, spoiling the effect of his _ruff-ruffs_.

When Peter's cell phone rang, it cut short the full onslaught of his teasing, but Neal didn't mind. Henry was calling. Peter switched to speaker when he answered.

"Score another one for our facial recognition software," Henry announced triumphantly.

"What did you learn?" Peter asked.

"We identified Fowler. He was discovered at the Buenos Aires airport, getting on a flight for Paris on January 20. So far we haven't found any evidence that he's returned."

"Did he travel under his own name?" Peter demanded.

"No, his U.S. passport identified him as Russell Thompson."

They spent the next several minutes speculating about why Fowler had flown to Europe. There was no certainty he stayed in Paris. He could have only made a brief stopover. Win-Win had a partnership with an investigative firm in Paris and Henry had contacted them to look into it. Neal was not aware of Adler ever having worked in Europe, so what Fowler was doing there now was a mystery.

Peter thought Adler had sent Fowler there to research Nazi plundered art, and Neal agreed that was most likely but he continued to think about it even after Peter left. It was still on his mind when Mozzie showed up in the afternoon to view the ring. Upon hearing the news, Mozzie agreed with Peter.

"Reluctant as I am to abandon Hitler clones, I have to admit Jones's theory of a U-boat filled with looted art is looking much more attractive. And I mean that from several different aspects. Do you realize how valuable a hoard like that would be?" Behind his glasses, Mozzie's eyes were shining at the prospect. Neal could have sworn he saw the reflection of dollar bills in them.

"It's moot. If we should ever recover treasure like that, we wouldn't keep it, right?" Mozzie didn't answer. Neal snapped his fingers in front of his face. "We're not profiting off Nazi war crimes," he added firmly.

"You know, your newly minted ethics can be very annoying, Mozzie said with a frown. "Have the suits traced any connection between Adler and Huber?"

"Not yet. What about the page of equations? Any ideas?"

"Ah, now that's an interesting question. As Travis said, they're a type of differential equation—specifically a dampened diffusion wave."

"English, please. I'm still struggling with fractals."

He smiled knowingly. "That's just it, _mon frère_. Dampened diffusion waves describe fractal patterns."

Neal regarded him suspiciously. "You're not thinking of alien tunnel slime, are you?"

He shook his head. "This is a very different type of fractal. The question you should be asking is do fractal equations have any connection with looted art?"

"That would be quite a stretch," Neal objected. "So far the only thing that links the journal to the manifest list is that they're approximately the same age."

Mozzie sighed wistfully. "You're probably right. Perhaps whoever wrote the equations was investigating slime in the Paris sewer system." He paused for a moment, his brow furrowing. "I wonder . . ."

Neal knew where he was heading. Alien slime in the sewers of Paris. It was only a matter of time. Before Mozzie became too distracted, he handed him the forged ring. "What do you think? Will it pass muster?"

Mozzie pulled out his jeweler's loupe and proceeded to examine it. "Excellent workmanship," he declared at last, nodding with approval.

Neal exhaled slowly. If the ring met Mozzie's standards, he knew he'd have no problem getting Keller to believe it was genuine. "Please thank the Mole for lending me his tools."

"He was glad he could help. I'll retrieve them this evening when you're with Raquel. Aidan will be here. He wants to consult with me about his program. I assume you've already scheduled your meeting with Keller?"

"Yeah, I'll meet him tomorrow." Neal paused for a moment. "Did you get it?"

Mozzie nodded. He reached into his leather case and pulled out a small box. Opening it to display the glass vial inside, he handed it to Neal. "Takayoshi says this is the purest quality. His source is impeccable. One-half milliliter is the correct amount. Not a drop more. Do you need a needle?"

"No, I've already taken care of it, thanks." Neal held the vial up to the light. The liquid was perfectly clear with a faint viscosity. It seemed odd for something so deadly to look so innocent. He didn't know what he'd been expecting. What would be an appropriate color for death?

"You sure you want to tell the suit about this? Is he a good enough actor? He could ruin the effect."

Neal shook his head. "I won't do that to Peter. He has to know in advance."

"It's so dangerous, he could easily raise objections." Mozzie frowned. "What if he refuses to allow it?"

Neal took a deep breath. "Keller can't escape with a slap on the wrist. The risk I'm taking is worth it. It'll be my job to convince Peter of that."

* * *

 ** _Notes_** _: In Penna's latest post on our blog, she wrote about the growing areas of cooperation between Peter and Mozzie. In this chapter we see what giant strides Mozzie has taken, not only with Peter but with other team members as well. Jones has been the lone holdout, and that may not last much longer. But even as Mozzie establishes friendlier relations with Neal's team, he continues to act as an imp on Neal's shoulder. Peter initially worried that Mozzie was a bad influence in Neal's life. In the final scene of this chapter Neal appears to be heading down one of those dark paths Peter was so concerned about._

 _Diana's fics are the subject of my post for our blog. At the conclusion of The Mirror, I'll begin posting the first of her stories, so if you're curious to see how she handles the suggestions she's being given, you won't have long to wait. Diana's fics differ from the typical Lovecraft story is several areas, some of which I touch upon in my post._

 _Tricia approved of June honoring Charlie Parker in her choice of a surname. Not only was Parker a legend on the saxophone but he also has a connection to birds. Parker's nickname was Yardbird. Among his hit songs were "Ornithology," "Bird of Paradise," and "The Bird Gets the Worm."_

 _Byron was a major influence in Neal's life, even though he only knew Byron for a few months. Peter and Neal's discussion of the addiction which the rush of a heist brings refers to a conversation Neal had with Byron in Chapter 10 of Penna's story By the Book. Diana never met Byron, but she was happy to include him in the Arkham Files stories._

 _Many of the concepts for this chapter, including the Lion Cub and Jungle Boy nicknames, developed from plot bunnies which Penna and I tossed back and forth, a game we call bunnyball. Many thanks to all of you who send along your comments and ideas. Some of your contributions to bunnyball will be making an appearance shortly._

 _I've updated the Arkham Files board on the Caffrey Conversation Pinterest site with the full cast of characters—you'll find a few new faces along with many familiar ones._

 _Next week in Chapter 11: A Charmed Life, Neal goes on another date with Raquel. Will it go better than last time? He also has an appointment with Keller, and another player in the mystery swirling around the Braque painting is revealed._

 ** _Blog_** _: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation_ _  
 **Chapter Visuals and Music** : The Mirror board on the Caffrey Conversation Pinterest website_


	11. A Charmed Life

**Chapter 11: A Charmed Life**

 **La Grenouille French Restaurant. Wednesday evening.**

"I've enjoyed our reunion," Raquel said, sliding closer to Neal on the banquette. "You should visit me in Venice. We'll explore its treasures together."

For the past couple of hours Neal and Raquel had feasted on delicacies prepared by La Grenouille's master chef. Neal hadn't visited the restaurant since his days with Adler, and it brought back memories of being there with Kate. He could see her now, smiling at him from across the room. At the time, the French-speaking waiters and the luxurious setting, with its fresh flowers and oil paintings in gilt frames on brocade-covered walls, had reminded him of Paris. Now he felt like he'd been thrown back into a fairy tale.

The discreet tuxedo-clad waiter placed Grand Marnier soufflés in front of them and refilled their porcelain coffee cups. Raquel had worn a black silk crepe dress which gave a new definition to the meaning of the word _provocative_. They were sitting side by side on a banquette upholstered in crimson velvet. When the waiter left, she leaned over and kissed his cheek. "Keller might still be observing us, you know."

"You saw him too?"

"Outside the restaurant? Oh yes. How appropriate that it's so frigid outside. I hope he freezes into a block of ice."

"A Keller ice sculpture," he said with a laugh as he picked up a fork. "We should stay here as long as possible."

Raquel ran a finger up his arm. "But afterward, of course, we'll return to my suite. You still need to steal the ring, and I won't make it easy."

"Is that so?" They'd spent the first hour on safe topics, discussing Egyptian amulets and the latest tomb discoveries, but for the past several minutes Raquel had become decidedly more amorous. The soft lighting of the restaurant cast everyone in a romantic glow and evidently she wasn't immune to its effect. A few years ago in Berlin, he would have been ecstatic over her attention, but not now.

"So who is she?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Don't play the innocent with me, Neal Caffrey. I'm fully aware of how alluring I am, but you're resisting. Who stole your heart?"

"Now, Raquel, I never ask about your lovers."

"Well, whoever she is, she's very lucky." Raquel sighed as she looked at him. "Such a waste of a golden opportunity. She'd never know."

Neal shook his head and smiled. "I would."

"In that case, I have a Senet board in my suite. A lovely item I collected in Boston earlier this week. Playing the Ancient Egyptian game won't be as pleasurable as what I had originally planned but if you insist . . ."

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Neal arrived back from Raquel's at close to three in the morning. June had gone to bed hours ago. He longed to also, but first he had a call to make.

"Allo, Neal is that you?"

"I'm glad I caught you, Chantal. I tried earlier and you were out. Your answering machine isn't working, by the way."

"It's broken, hélas, and I haven't had the time to have it repaired. I can't talk long. I'm in the midst of preparing the cassoulet for the day, and my sous-chef's at home sick. I could use your knife skill."

Neal could picture her standing in the kitchen of her bistro, surrounded by gleaming copper pots and molds. "I wish I could help too."

"Have you decided what to do about the Braque painting?"

"No, I'm still working on that. This is about a different matter. I wanted to warn you about someone who may approach you, seeking information about me. His name is Garrett Fowler. He traveled to Paris under the alias of Russell Thompson." Neal described his appearance and Chantal promised to let him know if she heard anything. It was unlikely that Fowler's flight to Paris had anything to do with Neal, but Chantal was the only connection he had there. Her marriage to Klaus Mansfeld was no secret. It was possible Adler had learned about it and would try to use Chantal as a means to get to him.

 **Federal Building. February 24, 2005. Thursday morning.**

Peter looked at his watch. Nine thirty and he still hadn't shown up. Neal had promised to come in today to make a report before meeting Keller. Peter was just on the point of calling him when he finally made an appearance.

When Peter called him into him into his office, Neal sat down in a chair with less than his normal grace. "Sorry I'm late."

"Did the evening with Raquel go okay?"

"Yeah. I just overslept. Keller was lurking around the restaurant and followed us to the hotel. I needed to maintain the illusion of the grand seduction. We played Senet in her room for several hours."

Peter eyed him warily. "That's not a version of the Kama Sutra, is it?"

Neal broke out in a tired grin. "Hardly! It's a board game from Ancient Egypt. I should get a set for Mozzie."

"Only you would use a pastime from Ancient Egypt as an excuse for being late," Peter said with a chuckle. "What time did you get home?"

"Around two thirty."

"And then you went to bed."

Neal raised an eyebrow. "Trying to set a curfew on me? That's not going to work. I'll get caught up on sleep after the job's done."

"The job's not going to get done if you crash from exhaustion."

Neal waved off his warning. "I had a phone call to make first—to Chantal. I keep wondering what Fowler's doing in Paris. Is he still there? It may have no connection to me, but I wanted to alert her just in case. If she hears anything, she'll let me know."

"Good. Hughes contacted Interpol about Fowler yesterday." Peter was glad he was taking precautions, but was he now going to stress about Chantal too? "I told Jones about Henry's discovery. He agrees that Fowler's most likely conducting research for Adler and this has no connection to you. When are you meeting Keller?"

"Noon in Grand Central Station."

Peter was going to ask for details but was interrupted by Jones appearing at the door. "I have news on the Dutchman front. Looks like someone's nibbling at our bait."

Peter beckoned Jones in. "Why do you say that?"

"I heard from one of the fences Neal put us on to. Operates in London. Says he may have located the painting. He's going to send me further instructions next week."

The news from Jones acted like a jolt of double-espresso on Neal. He sat up straighter, his face looking more alert. It was becoming increasingly clear he was living off adrenaline at this point. That might help with his meeting with Keller, but Peter was going to have to find a way for him to get more rest before he burned out. Accomplishing that with Tac-Con looming this weekend was going to be a difficult challenge.

 **Oyster Bar, Grand Central Station. February 24, 2005. Thursday midday.**

Neal left for his meeting with Keller, still excited about the news on Hagen. Would it be possible to get the Dutchman and Keller in one week? As long as Keller was arrested, he'd be satisfied. There'd be other opportunities for the Dutchman if the sting blew up. But Keller? Failure was not an option.

Neal had suggested they meet at the Oyster Bar in Grand Central. At midday it would be filled with customers and the din would provide Keller a comfort level to discuss business without fear of being overheard. Neal had worked with Travis to add an amplifier to his watch to record their conversation. Travis said he'd be able to filter out the background noise in the lab.

When Neal arrived, Keller had already grabbed a table and ordered a beer. Neal took the chair across from him. When the waiter came over, he ordered a glass of Sauvignon blanc, and they both requested plates of Blue Point oysters.

"So, Caff, how long you gonna keep me waiting?"

"You got my check?"

Keller handed it to him. "Cashier's check like you requested and I must say I was a little hurt by your lack of trust."

"Yeah, right." Neal inspected the check. "Pleasure doing business with you." He placed it in his wallet and passed him the box with the ring.

Keller opened the box and gave it a glance. "Any problem getting it from Raquel?"

"Nah, I waited till she was asleep." Neal said with a carefully executed smirk. "Had my fun and then claimed my prize."

"That's my boy," Keller said approvingly.

"Learned from the master," Neal said, tossing him a slight nod.

"I'll examine it later. It better be genuine," he warned. Neal wasn't worried. That ring would stand up to any scrutiny. Keller raised his glass to him. "Welcome back, partner."

Neal raised his own. "The future."

"What's the status on the Met?"

"My contact will load and verify the program on Monday. We make the hit Tuesday night."

Keller grimaced as if he'd just gotten a gigantic toothache. "Why so long? I'd like to get this done tomorrow."

"Can't be helped. The software update's not completed yet." Neal paused while the waiter placed their orders in front of them. "Besides I have other plans on the weekend. I'm exhibiting at a sci-fi convention. It's for a university project."

Keller snorted. "Are you nuts?"

"Part of a course assignment," he said, shrugging. "Getting that degree going's to be worth it. The access and contacts I'm building for New York museums will be unparalleled."

"So you really are going to make the museums your playground? You weren't just BS-ing me?"

"Steal what I want and then be on the FBI team which conducts the investigation—it doesn't get sweeter than that."

Keller considered him for a moment. "I knew you had potential, but this? Not too shabby."

Neal brushed off his acknowledgment. "New York's just the beginning." He reached for the hot sauce. "You contacted the buyer?"

Keller nodded. "He's already put down a deposit."

"Would he be interested in more?"

"What do you mean?"

Neal kept him waiting while he downed an oyster. "As long as I'm in the museum, why just steal the mirror?" He leaned forward and pointed his fork at Keller. "Those pectorals, the vulture pendant. I could take them too."

"Is that so?"

"With the software I'm installing, I'll be able to disable the security for the entire exhibition. The only limit is how much I can carry out." Neal paused to wince. "Too bad about the golden shrine. It's at least as valuable as the mirror—maybe more— but I can't manage it on my own."

"Don't be so hasty," Keller chided him. He stroked his upper lip as he glanced around the room. "What if I joined you? We could make a much larger haul."

"I work alone now," Neal said shortly. "Not interested."

"Not even for all the extra millions? Let me approach my buyers. If I can get firm commitments for the haul, I say we go for it. What do you say? You and me together?"

"Fifty-fifty?"

He nodded. "Even split."

"I want the buyers' names."

"Sure, in return for the details of your software."

Neal smiled at him wolfishly. "We're going to make a good team."

"Old times. What makes this work is we're two of a kind. We know how each other works and when we're being played."

"Zero trust and total confidence," Neal said, raising his glass to him.

"You scratch my back, I scratch yours." Keller scooped an oyster out of its shell and paused, eyeing him speculatively. "You interested in an easy five million of scratch?"

"What do you have in mind?"

"Braque's _Violin and Candlestick_. I can take it off your hands. I have a buyer who'll pay top dollar for it."

"What are you talking about? I don't have any Braques."

He shrugged. "That's not what my sources say."

"Your sources are wrong."

"Is that a fact? Too bad. That painting's been missing for decades. If you can find it, let me know."

How did Keller know about the Braque? Neal was positive he hadn't mentioned it to him. Had Klaus approached Keller to fence it after Neal left Europe? Neal longed to ask Keller where he'd gotten his information, but if he displayed any interest, it would tip off his hand.

Neal continued to weigh the possibilities during the taxi ride back to the Federal Building. When he arrived, he didn't go inside but opted to make a detour to a drugstore where he called Mozzie. "Has Gordon Taylor ever mentioned Keller to you?" he asked.

"No, why?"

Neal explained what Keller said about the painting.

"What is it about that Braque?" Mozzie asked. "Is there a revival of interest in cubism?"

"Or a collector who's fixated on the cubists? I don't know."

"You don't think this has anything to do with Fowler being in Paris? Does Adler know about your connection with Klaus Mansfeld?"

"I've been wondering about that," Neal admitted. "Jones thinks Fowler's conducting research on Nazis. I never talked about Klaus to Adler." He wished he were more certain. Peter had made sure that there was only the bare minimum of information about Klaus in his file, but he'd been forced to include the fact that Neal was acquainted with him. Fowler had access to his file when he worked with OPR. He could have mentioned it to Adler. But why would Adler be interested in the Braque? Was it somehow connected to Nazi looted art?

When they stole the painting, Klaus believed it was only a copy. The theft had been a training exercise for Neal. The family who owned it lived in Oberammergau, Germany where Klaus's family owned a ski chalet. Supposedly Klaus's family knew them well and Klaus had seen the painting often as a child. The family considered it a copy and that's why Klaus had selected it. He knew the family wouldn't go to the bother of reporting a stolen copy.

When Neal discovered the painting was genuine, they hid it till Klaus could decide what to do with it. Klaus had researched the painting and learned it had been sold to the family in the 1930s. Even though they believed it was a copy, they were fond of it and had held on to it through the years. There didn't appear to be any connection to the plundering that took place during the war. Why the painting was currently commanding so much attention was an intriguing puzzle, but for now Adler, Nazis, and the Braque would have to be shelved while he finished the chess game with Keller.

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

His call to Mozzie completed, Neal returned to White Collar where he gave his watch to Travis to have the conversation downloaded. Then he went upstairs to report to Peter. "Keller's contacting his buyers about the additional artifacts. He knows I'll be at Tac-Con on the weekend and we won't pull the heist in any case till next week."

"How did he react when he heard about Tac-Con?"

"He bought my story. He's salivating at the future prospects I'll be able to provide him."

"You're going to wear a spot on my door if you keep leaning against it like that," Peter complained. "Sit down. Breathe when you get a chance."

Neal dropped into a chair. "I told Keller to plan on Tuesday night for the heist. I dangled the lure of stealing the shrine, the ivory-paneled box, and extra jewelry from the exhibit and he bought it just as we expected. Counting up all his future loot should keep him occupied over the weekend."

"When are you giving him the specifics of the heist?"

"Monday. Last minute is the best. Less chance for him to attempt to tweak anything." Neal was glad Peter didn't press for details. He knew he couldn't avoid it much longer, but he hoped to postpone the discussion till Tac-Con. In a public venue Peter might not blow up as much.

"From White Collar's standpoint, this should be a simple takedown. After our experience at the Met last September, we're already familiar with the museum layout and have been planning our staging areas. I'll meet with the team this afternoon. No need for you to be present for that."

"Oh, you'll like this." Neal pulled out the cashier's check and tossed it over to Peter. "After reimbursing Mozzie for the stone and gold, there will still be a healthy sum left."

"Seed money for future ops? This will make Hughes happy. I have some good news for you, too."

"Did Hobhouse call?"

"No, not Hobhouse, but R.W. Bosch. The lead Sterling-Bosch investigator in France has confessed to taking a bribe from Ydrus. When the authenticator in Dijon was murdered, that evidently scared him into confessing. He was arrested yesterday and is still being questioned. He's already admitted to paying the authenticator off. Claims it was the first time."

"Did he know about our investigation into Max Rinaldi?"

Peter nodded. "I'd asked Sara to check into whether Rinaldi had any previous history with Sterling-Bosch. As lead investigator he would have been consulted. So far he's denying that he informed Ydrus about Rinaldi, but since he was paid off by them to bribe the authenticator, the smoking gun argument will be hard to refute."

"So the cloud is lifted off Sara?"

"I thought you'd be pleased," Peter said, smiling. "In light of this I think we should consider bringing her in on this case."

"In what capacity?"

"You need a real Tiffany," Peter said bluntly. "Call it added insurance. You're trying to make Keller believe you're just like him, so now that Raquel's leaving, you need another woman on your arm."

Neal hesitated. "I don't want to expose Sara to a risk . . ."

"Sara can manage just fine. Look, you've been inventing stories about you and Tiffany for months to protect Fiona. This is simply an extension of it. Sara's a friend of Fiona. I'm sure she'll be happy to play along. I'll call her this afternoon. "

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

Peter shrugged. "Maybe. What are your plans for the rest of the day?"

"I'm going back to Columbia to paint. The past few days I haven't had any time to work on my art for the convention. I also have a seminar tonight."

"Aren't you leaving something out?"

Neal hesitated, running through the list of activities in his mind. "What did I forget?"

Peter sighed, shaking his head, and began humming.

Startled, Neal stared at him. "You never hum. What's that song?"

Peter simply rolled his eyes and kept at it. Now he was even louder. This was becoming annoying.

Suddenly it dawned. Even Peter's out-of-tune rendition was unmistakable. Neal groaned, putting his head in his hands. "Seriously? 'The Lion Sleeps Tonight'? I knew I shouldn't have told you about Klaus's nickname."

"Well, get some sleep if you don't want to keep hearing it. Go home. No need for you to come in tomorrow morning. I'll set up an appointment with Sara for the afternoon. I don't want to see a strung-out zombie tomorrow."

It was tempting to blow off Peter's concerns, but he couldn't deny he'd been running on fumes all morning. And a second humming performance was out of the question. Would songs from _The Lion King_ be next? Or _The Jungle Book_? "Bare Necessities"? Neal chuckled sheepishly as he looked over at Peter watching him with a smug smile on his face. He'd handed Peter the ultimate weapon, and Peter was clearly aware of it.

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

So when the tsunami struck, could he blame Peter? Or perhaps it was that infernal song which played in a continuous loop all the way home until he collapsed in bed. Whatever the cause, after a few hours of sleep and a dash to a seminar which the professor insisted on prolonging for an extra half-hour, it was well past nine o'clock before Neal had a chance to paint.

The first waves of panic sloshed over his feet as he sprinted to his studio. He only had two nights to finish his paintings. The schedule he'd constructed a couple of weeks ago had been ripped to shreds by burgeoning meetings and the ring forgery.

As he headed down the corridor at Watson Hall to his studio, he heard a muffled curse coming out of Richard's studio next door. Neal paused to look inside. "What happened?"

Neal might be dripping in panic, but Richard was already drenched. He was staring despondently at one of his sculptures for the competition. "It's all wrong. What a load of crap. I should start over."

Neal stared at him, horrified. "You can't! There's no time. What's wrong with it?"

"It doesn't look right. The expression's asinine. Those limbs look grotesque. I was supposed to create an alien lifeform, not a monstrosity." Richard was perched dejectedly on a stool, looking as freaked out as Neal had ever seen him. An intervention was plainly called for before he did something crazy like smash it.

"It's perfect. Leave it alone, man. You're obsessing too much. I've been there. I've spent months on a painting, tweaking it forever, but at some point you need to recognize when it's finished and stop."

Richard put his elbows on the table and cradled his chin in his hands as he continued to stare at his sculpture. "I'm starting to see it in my dreams. I know I'm obsessing too much, but I can't stop. I shouldn't have let myself get so excited about the prize." He groaned. "That dream of working at Scima Gameworks and quitting my job. What was I thinking? I should go back to my abstracts. Mindless constructs. That's what I need."

"No you don't. If you don't win, so what? You can still network at Tac-Con, make contacts, and learn about other companies. You're exhausted. You're not thinking straight. Between the video and your sculptures, you've been going at it too hard."

"Takes one to know one," Richard said, giving a tired chuckle. "Remember our original acronym—SAS? That's us. Did Peter ever guess it?"

"Somnambulant Artists Society? Nah. He was so smug at figuring out that AFO stood for All For One, he may have forgotten about it."

"God, we're in bad straits." Richard shook his head and pointed to a stack of drawings. "See those? Requests for makeup for Tac-Con. I might as well catch what little shuteye I can for the next two nights here at the studio. You survived sleeping here in the fall. How bad can it be?"

"Bad, trust me. I tried sleeping in my studio, but didn't last long on a concrete floor. Crashed in the lounge, but the custodians clean it at night. You'd be lucky to get more than a couple of hours of sleep."

Richard went over to his guitar which was propped in the corner and began strumming it. "I've been stressing so much, even my music's morose these days. Are you familiar with 'Slip Slidin Away' by Paul Simon? Where you have a dream and just when you get close enough to touch it, it vanishes before your eyes? That's what I feel is happening to me. Now the song has latched itself to my brain and won't let go."

Neal nodded. A song getting stuck in your head? Yeah, he could relate and Richard was echoing his own sentiments. When Richard began playing, the words came back to him. The last time he'd sung it, he'd been maybe twelve. No matter—he was belting it out now. Neal made a quick trip to his studio to retrieve his guitar and they jammed on the song, first singing Paul Simon's lyrics then making up their own. They alternated stanzas about their art and their lives, giving in to their frustrations.

When Richard sang:

 _"I know a sculptor. Who longed to succeed.  
He put his soul into his clay, and then smashed it up so no one could see."_

Neal came back at him with:

 _"I know a painter. Who lost his way.  
He put his brush down, ripped his canvas up, caught the nearest moonbeam, and floated away."_

"What is this? The Gloom and Doom Society?"

Neal turned his head to see Travis at the entrance. "Hey, a little respect, please. Can't you see we're wallowing?"

Travis chuckled and joined them on the floor. "Any particular reason?"

"Take your pick," Richard said with a wave of his hand. "I wouldn't want to play favorites."

"I'm glad you showed up," Neal added. "You better take him home, someplace far away from his sculptures. I just rescued him from demolishing one."

Travis's eyebrows ascended to his hairline. "You wouldn't have."

Richard made a face as he shrugged. "A brief moment of insanity. Neal talked me down."

"That's what happens when you're short on sleep."

"Travis, how'd you know you needed to help with an intervention?" Neal asked.

"Random luck," he replied. "I had a SETI meeting to attend on campus."

"I hope you're not investigating alien slime mold in the tunnels?" Neal asked.

"No, that one I'm leaving to Mozzie. I'm not sure he'd trust anyone with his data anyway." He got up off the ground. "I'm done. Tomorrow's a work day and I'm dragging Richard away before he gets second thoughts about his sculptures."

While Richard stowed his guitar, Travis added, "Neal, you should call it a night too. You want a lift home?"

"Thanks, but I haven't even started painting yet. I still have hours to go." Travis pursed his lips giving him a frown. "Now, don't start on me. Peter said I don't have to go in tomorrow morning. I'll catch up on sleep later tonight."

"Don't get any crazy ideas about destroying your art," Travis warned. "Take a lesson from Richard and give us a call if you need an intervention."

After they left, Neal got to work. In retrospect it might not have been his brightest idea to work on paintings of monsters late at night. Tentacle-face was bad enough, but that seascape … As Neal became more absorbed by the painting, he felt like he was swimming in the ocean along with the emerging monstrosities that were coming to life under his brush. In the end, he was painting as one possessed.

When he put away his brushes, he was too exhausted to evaluate what he'd done. Was it any good? He'd have to wait till tomorrow to make that determination, but the painting continued to haunt him as he walked home. When he crashed on his bed, sleep wouldn't come. No more late nights painting monsters, he vowed. He had no desire to become Neal Carter of the Arkham Files.

At eight o'clock he gave up any further rest as a lost cause, slipped on a robe, and made a pot of coffee. It was too cold to sit outside on the terrace so he settled in to read the newspaper at his table. He was halfway done when Peter called.

"Hope I didn't wake you."

"No, I was already up. Being lazy on your orders, though."

"Need a little something to blow away from the cobwebs?"

"You're not going to hum again, are you?" Neal asked warily.

"Not quite," he said, chuckling. "I heard from John Hobhouse this morning." Neal sat upright, banging his knee against the table. "What was that noise?"

"Ignore it," Neal said, rubbing his kneecap. "What did he say?"

"I'm going to need a new business card."

"You were picked? Congratulations!"

"Well, I could say the same to you. He's requested you too, that is if you're interested."

Neal was too excited to speak for a moment.

"I'm guessing that's a yes?"

"You already told him, didn't you?"

"Guilty as charged. I assumed I knew what your answer would be."

"What about Kramer?"

"He didn't make the cut."

Neal had expected their best shot would be if Hobhouse decided to appoint three from the Bureau. That Hobhouse didn't go for the obvious choice bode well for the future. "What happens now?"

"Don't start packing your bags just yet. John said it will take a few weeks to make all the appointments. Eventually he plans to schedule a face-to-face meeting."

"Any idea of where?"

"John's going to keep his office in London, so I suspect that's the most likely location. All right, I can see your grin from here. Better make sure your passport's in order."

"Already checked, Peter."

"Good. We're going to have a briefing on Karl Huber this morning. If you're no longer jumping around, you might like to join us. I know I said you didn't need to come in till the afternoon, but . . ."

"You couldn't keep me away." After he hung up, Neal sat back in his chair, still not believing it. He'd once been accused by a federal marshal of leading a charmed life. At the time, he'd thought that was about the polar opposite of what his experiences had been like, but perhaps there was some truth in it after all.

Neal made quick work of getting dressed and arrived at the Bureau in record time. The monsters of the previous night had been obliterated by Peter's news.

"About time, Caffrey," Diana mocked when he came in. "What makes you think you're entitled to sleep in?"

"Stupid of me, wasn't it?"

"Now that you've arrived, we can finally start the meeting. I'll let the others know. The briefing begins in fifteen minutes. Don't be late."

"Bossy much? Just remember, you can't order me around like you can Neal Carter in your stories."

"In your dreams, Caffrey,'' she jeered as she headed off to inform the others.

Neal tossed his fedora on the bust of Socrates on his desk and sat down for a quick check of his email before heading upstairs. Travis and Jones arrived at the conference room right after him, followed shortly by Peter. Surprisingly Diana was nowhere to be seen. What was the deal about lecturing him not to be late? He asked Jones about it, and he said she'd been delayed by a phone call.

Peter made use of the time to discuss Tac-Con. Since someone was required to stay with the competition pieces at all times, the competitors had to prevail on friends and family to help out. Peter was going to assist Neal with his paintings while Jones and Diana worked the hall for news on anything related to Cthulhu Mythos or Lovecraft. Travis was going to be busy helping Richard.

Jones had just projected a floorplan of the convention center onto the wall monitor when Diana finally showed up. She was carrying a large bag which Neal knew well. "The French Café Gourmand? They have the best croissants in town. Do I smell almond croissants?"

"Yes you do," she replied. "A little celebration is in order. I didn't realize their line would be so long." She turned to Travis and nodded. "Hit it."

Travis grinned and tapped a key on his laptop. To the strains of "La Mer," Diana passed out French roast coffee and croissants.

"This is much appreciated, Diana, but you do realize Neal and I aren't going anywhere," Peter said between bites. "We'll be handling most everything via teleconferencing and emails."

"Speak for yourself, Peter," Neal retorted, gesturing with a piece of croissant. "I intend to avail myself of every opportunity to go overseas." He looked around the table. "Did I mention that Interpol was headquartered in Lyon, the capital of gastronomy for France, and indeed the world?"

"Why yes, you did," Diana said. "Several times, in fact."

While the croissants were being consumed to the last crumb, Peter directed Jones to update the others on the journal.

"The translation team issued a preliminary report on the evidence collected from the Huber estate," he said. "The journal was a World War II diary of a man named Franz Huber, Karl Huber's father. Franz was a squad leader in the SS during the war. For much of the time he was stationed in Paris where he was assigned to the ERR."

"I'm not familiar with that group," Travis commented.

"Reichsleiter Rosenberg Taskforce," Neal supplied. "It was the Nazi organization responsible for confiscating art and cultural property."

Jones nodded. "The diary appears to have lost about half of its pages, and what remains are for the years 1941 and 1942. We're working with Interpol to send copies of the pages to the appropriate agencies for further analysis." He turned to Peter. "Hobhouse has been expediting the transfer. From what we've learned so far, Huber was involved with the art stored at the Jeu de Paume museum in Paris, the main repository for plundered art in France."

"Any mention of shipments to U-boats?" Peter asked.

Jones shook his head. "No, and no mention of Adler's father, Wilhelm Adler. The translation folks tell us they didn't find anything dramatic, like, for instance, details of a transfer of art or a secret depository."

"And that shipping manifest . . . any further information on that?" Neal asked.

"You were right," Diana said. "All the paintings on the list were seized by the Nazis and stored in the Jeu de Paume during the war. They're all still missing. It's tempting to think that the manifest was a list of art being shipped to another location, but it may have simply been a draft and action wasn't taken."

"But Huber clearly felt it was valuable," Neal pointed out. "Why else would he preserve it so carefully?"

"As to the page of equations, I've been looking into that," Travis said. "They represent dampened diffusion wave patterns."

"The mathematics behind many fractals," Neal explained to Diana with a knowing nod.

Travis gave him a startled look. "Your computational design course is more advanced than I realized. Would you like to continue?"

Neal dismissed his suggestion with a wave of his hand. "No, carry on. You're doing great."

"As I'm sure Neal will agree, the equations don't relate to one specific fractal algorithm."

"There's nothing in the journal that talks about the equations," Jones added. "Could Huber have been taking a course and this was an assignment?"

"If so, it would have had to be an advanced one," Travis said. "The science of fractals was just getting started back then. Diana's suggestion that Huber was a mathematician before he was drafted seems the best explanation."

"We still haven't been able to confirm it," Jones noted. "I've put in a request to the German authorities for more information about him."

"What about the contents of the hard drive?" Peter asked Jones.

"Neal was able to copy the entire set of data files from his C drive. We finished examining them. They are predominantly records for his company, Argos Shipping, as well as some personal financial records."

"Anything about Ydrus?" Peter asked hopefully.

Jones shook his head regretfully. "Huber's more careful than Rinaldi was. Very little mention of Ydrus and what's there is too cryptic to be much help. Fortunately we'd already analyzed the data from Rinaldi's laptop or we might have missed the references. There were some emails to numbered addresses similar to what Rinaldi had on his computer. We haven't been able to trace any of those addresses, by the way. I even contacted Win-Win for help and so far they're not having any better luck. We also found the same python codes which Rinaldi used. We'd already identified _Python_ , _Savu_ and _Ringed_ from Rinaldi's files. In addition Huber has references to _Royal_ , _Reticulated_ , _Rock_ , and _Rough-scaled_. Impossible to know what their roles are. We're building up a file though of all the messages with code words and hope to eventually crack them."

"Anything to connect Huber to Adler?" Peter asked hopefully.

"Unfortunately not," Jones said. "It's possible one of the code words refers to Adler, but there's nothing to establish the link."

Peter turned to Travis. "How is the work on the antivirus software proceeding?"

"I met with Aidan yesterday. He's architected a promising design. The sophistication of its protection has been materially aided by suggestions from Mozzie." Travis paused to scan the group. "Remember I asked Aidan to look into Marta and Jacek Kolar, the tech experts Mansfeld employed in New York when Neal was undercover? Aidan has some news about them. In his undergrad days, Aidan had a roommate one year who was Polish. The guy's working back in Poland now and has connections to the Czech dev scene. Aidan warned that his info is fourth or fifth hand, but supposedly Jacek is known in the Czech programming underground for some sophisticated hacker attacks. Based on what his friend found out, Aidan feels it's quite possible he worked on the malware program. His friend is trying to locate some examples of code that Jacek wrote. Programmers sometimes leave tells in their style of programming."

"Like Hagen leaves in his forgeries?" Neal asked.

Travis nodded. "It's similar, but instead of paint pigments and craquelure, we're dealing with programming logic and syntax. It's not as precise as a fingerprint but it can be helpful in establishing the identity of a programmer."

"Does Aidan's friend know if Jacek ever displayed any interest in Lovecraft?" Jones asked.

"Aidan asked but the friend doesn't know anything about that. He'd never heard of Lovecraft so that may not mean much."

Peter's eyes narrowed as he reflected. "Could Jacek be Azathoth? Tricia was speculating that Azathoth was an academic."

Travis steepled his hands as he considered for a moment. "If Jacek's not Azathoth, he could be working for him."

"This is good, Travis," Peter said, nodding in satisfaction. "Did Aidan's friend have any news of Jacek's wife Marta?"

He nodded. "Marta's built quite a reputation as a gaming programmer. She's reportedly doing some cutting-edge work in virtual reality development. Azathoth could have drawn on her gaming expertise. We've discussed how the house where he held you captive had many similarities to a game environment."

"We shouldn't overlook the possibility that Marta's Azathoth," Diana noted.

Diana had mentioned that before. A female Azathoth. Neal hadn't thought it very likely, but was he relying too much on the voice he and Peter had heard when they were kidnapped? The fact it was male meant nothing.

"I also had some conversations with Henry about their facial recognition software," Travis said. "What his company's developing is light years more advanced than what we're using here at the Bureau. I'd like to discuss implementing a beta version here at White Collar."

"With the reduced manpower we have because of budget constraints, the software could be a godsend," Jones added. "Combining it with surveillance cameras would make us much more efficient."

"Go ahead and continue your discussions," Peter said. "Get a price estimate and I'll see what I can do. We don't have much slack in our budget, but I may be able to work something out."

Neal was already ahead of him. "If we presented this to the International Council of Museums, I bet Win-Win would find a ready market. Their product would help local authorities track visits of known art thieves. I'm willing to wager Win-Win would be happy to cut us a sweet deal if they could market the product as being used by the FBI."

"Meaning we'd get the technology without breaking our budget." Travis noted.

"Boss, once we get Win-Win's agreement, you should present this to Hobhouse," Diana suggested. "He'll be convinced more than ever he picked the right people for his task force."

That charmed life was looking brighter than ever with the real possibility of Henry working closely with White Collar not just on Adler but on a permanent basis through the software. But as Neal helped clean up the conference room after the briefing, his thoughts returned to the hyena that was prowling outside in the jungle. Until something was done about him, that charmed life would remain in a holding pattern.

* * *

 ** _Notes_** _: Shakespeare may have been the first to use the phrase "a charmed life," but I will always associate it with Neal Caffrey, thanks to Penna Nomen. She linked the phrase to Neal in Caffrey Disclosure, Chapter 3. Federal Marshal Annina Brandel wondered how someone of his paygrade could afford the lifestyle he had. At the time Neal was dealing with a lot of issues and thought the phrase not very apt. But he does appear to have the luck of the Irish sometimes, and being selected to the task force may have made a believer out of him._

 _Neal's going through a lot of stress in The Mirror. Penna's written the perfect antidote for any angst overload. It's called "I love a loopy Neal" and is her latest post on our blog._ _She also includes a news tidbit about the story she's presently working on._

 _Many of you may remember the song "La Mer" from the White Collar final episode. My post for the blog is about that song and second chances. The songs mentioned in this chapter as well as visuals have been added to The Mirror board on the Caffrey Conversation Pinterest site._

 _Thanks to Penna for providing excellent sounding board/beta services yet again. A special shout-out goes to KeJae. I'd been looking for a way to use "The Lion Sleeps Tonight" and KeJae suggested Peter hum it._

 _I hope you'll join me at Tac-Con next week in Chapter 12: Slip Slidin' Away. Free admission for everyone!_

 ** _Blog_** _: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation_ _  
 **Chapter Visuals and Music** : The Mirror board on the Caffrey Conversation Pinterest website_


	12. Slip Slidin' Away

**Chapter 12: Slip Slidin' Away**

 **Federal Building. February 25, 2005. Friday afternoon.**

"Did I enter _The Twilight Zone_?" When Neal arrived back at the office from lunch, he discovered Sara had already arrived and was standing with Peter in the bullpen. He glanced down at his watch. One o'clock. Was this really Sara? Thirty minutes early?

"Don't worry. I'll probably never be early again, although it may be worth it for the shock value alone," she said with a laugh. "I had an appointment canceled on me at the last moment. Since I was in your area, I decided to take the chance you'd be free."

"How much longer will you be in New York?" Peter asked as they walked upstairs to the conference room.

"One more week and then my work will be done. Sterling-Bosch is considering implementing a new procedure where we'll make greater use of local authenticators—at least in the States—and establish regional hubs on the east and west coasts. We're grateful that Weatherby's is not canceling its policy with us."

Neal held the door open for her. "I'm sure your bosses appreciate your negotiating skills."

"I hope not too much. I'm eager to get back to field work." Her face grew more serious as she took a seat at the conference room table. "I assume you've heard about the arrest of the Sterling-Bosch investigator."

Peter nodded. "What did you find out?"

"That he was working for a group called Ydrus. You probably know who they are, but it was a new group to me. An Interpol bulletin was circulated among all the employees. The investigator admitted he paid off the authenticator of the Corot forgery at their request." Sara shook her head as she paused for a moment. "It's shocking that Ydrus was able to infiltrate our organization without raising any flags. I'm glad he was discovered before further damage was done."

 _She'd be even more shocked if she knew she'd been under suspicion,_ Neal thought. Would she ever find out?

"Where does the case stand with the man who tried to pass off the forgery?"

"He goes on trial next month," Peter replied. "He still refuses to admit to anything regarding Ydrus. With the attempted murder charges hanging over him, the fact that he's not attempting to plea bargain is revealing."

"We suspect an arrangement with Ydrus, where they may have guaranteed his family's well-being in exchange for his silence," Neal added.

Peter nodded. "Or that he's simply too afraid of what they'll do to him or his family if he makes any revelations."

Sara turned to face Neal and slanted her head, a smile quirking her lips. "So to celebrate the capture of their nemesis, James Bond and Tiffany Case are going on a date."

Neal grinned back. "You up for it, Tiffany?"

"Could be fun. I spoke with Fiona about it this morning and she thought it'd be a great way to distract Keller. When she learned the Italian temptress was no longer around, she agreed you needed a substitute. Apparently, she trusts me a lot more."

"But I don't intend to replace one problem with another," Neal cautioned. "We shouldn't overplay it or Keller will think you're my vulnerability and he'll take after you."

"I'd like to see him try," she scoffed. "After two weeks of meetings, I wouldn't mind at all giving my baton a workout."

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Neal didn't linger after Sara departed. Peter was giving him a pass to work on his paintings and he jumped on it. Last night he'd painted like one possessed. What would he think of it today? If he didn't like it, was he going to have to scrap it and start all over?

When Travis had first suggested he enter the competition, Neal convinced himself he wasn't expecting to win anything. He wasn't a sci-fi geek. He was entering simply to keep Richard and Aidan company. That delusion was long past. This was his first art competition since high school and, no matter that the supposed goal was to solicit intel about Azathoth, this was his art that was being presented. He didn't care about the prize. He wasn't looking for an internship like Richard. But making a poor showing was simply not an option.

For the past week he'd been talking with Richard and Aidan daily and listening to them panic over the state of their projects. He'd been the calm, reassuring voice of reason. No longer. Had their stress rubbed off on him? Whatever. He might have been a late bloomer, but his panic now threatened to exceed theirs.

As the subway approached the Columbia University station, for just one minute Neal permitted the waves of misery to slosh over him. He was juggling Keller, Columbia, and Tac-Con while trying to keep Fiona safe from Keller. He huffed in frustration, causing the businessman standing next to him on the subway to eye him uneasily. "Sorry," he muttered. Now he was also scaring the subway passengers. He should be committed and placed in a padded cell. But then who would finish his paintings?

When Neal arrived at his studio, he found Richard already working next door. Neal called out a greeting but didn't stop to talk. Hanging up his jacket, he refused to look at the seascape on the easel until he'd changed. Slipping into jeans and a t-shirt enabled him to shed his work skin and emerge an artist. The jeans were comfortable, the paint blotches all familiar friends. He gathered up all extraneous thoughts, locked them in the broom closet of his mind, and turned to face the seascape.

He must have spent fifteen minutes studying it from every angle, and at the end, if a small smile broke out, it was justified. He wasn't going to touch a brush to it.

But that still left the attack by tentacle-face. That painting was not nearly where it should be. Neal took a deep breath and got to work

Sometime, maybe three hours later, he paused to come up for air. He still had a way to go but the end was in sight. Richard poked his head in. "I'm making a coffee run. You want anything?"

Neal gratefully accepted and a few minutes later they were perched on stools in his studio, comparing notes about the next day's schedule. Neal's was much lighter than Richard's. All he had to do was stand around and answer questions from judges and convention visitors. For Richard, it was far more intense.

"Saturday's the worst," Richard said, making a face. "In the morning our sculptures are reviewed. In the afternoon we're presented with two challenges. The first one is to sculpt a creature based on their specifications. We'll have an hour to finish."

"Clever. It's a good way of confirming you're the one who sculpted the presentation pieces."

He nodded. "That's part of it but mainly it's to see how we work under pressure. The second challenge is not mandatory unless you're interested in competing for the internship position at Scima Gameworks. For that we have to prepare a set design on a subject of their choosing." He took a deep breath. "It's going to be a long day."

"When are Mozzie and Janet arriving?"

"They're going to meet me in the SFX lab at Prentis early tomorrow morning for me to apply their makeup. Did you hear Mozzie's setting up a display on the yellow-faced bee next to Aidan's presentation table?"

"Figures. But it's a smart strategy. I wouldn't be surprised if the judges give Aidan extra points for the conservation message. Who could resist Mozzie as Quark?"

"Or Janet as a Dabo girl?" Richard chuckled. "Mozzie came by to discuss his makeup yesterday. Spent the entire time quoting the Rules of Acquisition to me. I'd say he's already gotten into character."

"You're transforming Jones into a Klingon. Has anyone else from White Collar approached you?"

"Diana contacted me. Christie wants to go as Jadzea Dax. She'll be at Tac-Con with Diana on Sunday. Diana said they'd be there for moral support during the judging announcements."

Christie's character wasn't ringing a bell. It sounded vaguely familiar but Neal had to ask Richard about it.

"She was in _Star Trek:_ _Deep Space Nine_. Not a very complicated makeup fortunately. All she needs are spots. Janet's providing the uniform."

"How about Diana? Who's she going as?"

"Can't you guess?"

Neal thought a moment. It seemed obvious to him and Richard's expression told him he was right. "Anyone else ask you? Peter?"

He grinned. "Sorry. Artist client privilege. You don't have clearance."

"You can't keep a secret. It is Peter, isn't it?"

Richard backed out of the studio, throwing him the _X_ sign with his hands. "You, I don't fear. I'm leaving before I get into trouble. Besides, don't you need to get back to your painting?"

 **Jacob Javits Convention Center. February 26, 2005. Saturday morning.**

"Just like old times." Neal perched on a stool next to Peter. "You and me back at a convention. How does it feel?"

"Hey, I'm not wearing a costume. I'm looking forward to this. If El didn't have a wedding to oversee, she'd be here too. She said to break a leg or whatever it is artists are supposed to do."

"Break a paintbrush? I hope she's serving honey wine at the reception."

"Several cases." Peter scanned the room reserved for the painting competition. He was already familiar with the building layout from the gaming convention in the fall, and in many respects the two conventions seemed similar. Hordes of fans in costumes. Gaming rooms. Cavernous vendor hall. Press rooms. But Tac-Con emphasized the film industry with promotional areas set up for all the major franchises. Interviews and press conferences with celebrities were scheduled for both days of the event.

They'd gotten an early start to the day with Peter showing up at Neal's studio at seven. When they set up his paintings, only a few other artists had arrived. Now the room was filled with forty artists and their works. Most of them, like Neal, had elected to enter two paintings. The doors opened to the public at nine.

"The judges could show up any time now." Neal paused to study his paintings nervously. "I'm told there will be some surprise famous names among the judges."

He'd taken the documentary paintings he'd made for White Collar and recreated them as works of art. It was a profoundly disturbing vision he portrayed. This was no optimistic Utopian world but the horrific stuff of nightmares. The paint itself appeared to pulsate with evil. In his seascape, the starfish monster and lesser creatures writhed out of the sea as if they'd break free from the surface of the canvas. In his second painting, Neal was shown with his back to the observer so he couldn't be recognized. The tentacle-faced assailant was illuminated as if a bolt of lightning had pierced the chamber.

Would Azathoth be at the convention? How would they know if he were? During the kidnapping, the only time they'd heard someone speak was after the starfish had been projected on their cell wall. It was impossible to know if that had actually been the voice of Azathoth.

Peter considered it highly remote that anything useful about Azathoth would come out of Tac-Con, and frankly that was fine with him. Neal and his friends had worked so hard on getting their pieces ready, he hoped nothing would interfere. Originally he'd naively counted on Tac-Con being a good way to reduce stress. That was before he realized how tense Richard, Aidan, and Neal had become over their exhibition pieces.

At the moment, Neal was giving an excellent imitation of the Siamese cat Peter's mom had when he was a child. That cat used to prowl around the house like a tightly coiled spring and would propel himself without warning onto a bookcase or a person's back depending on his mood. "Did you get any sleep last night?"

"Not much. I talked with Aidan shortly before I left my studio. He was planning to work through the night, making last-minute adjustments. He tried to persuade me to record more dialogue. You'd be proud of me. I talked him down."

"Hey, I'm proud of you no matter what. This is just an art show, right? One of many."

"Yeah, right," Neal winced. "Let's change the subject before I get more stressed. Henry called last night."

"Had he learned anything about Fowler?"

"No, he'd talked with Travis and wanted to congratulate me on the art crimes task force. Henry's confident that Win-Win's CEO will agree to partner with us on a trial project. Henry's keen to help market the product to museums when you're ready."

"He must be excited to become involved in an area that you're so passionate about."

Neal nodded as he checked the doors for any sign of the judges. "I think so. Henry's appreciation of fine art is in the cellar, but he'll shine at working with us on security."

"We're the honey."

Neal shot him a quizzical look. "Yeah, I guess. Rather a strange way of putting it."

"El calls Henry a honey bear. She says the lure of working with us acts like honey to a bear."

"It may help keep him out of trouble."

"And he can help keep you out of trouble."

"Or we'll be double the trouble for you."

"Now, you've got me stressed." But it was worth it. Thinking about Henry was helping Neal relax.

"If you want to make a run for some coffee, this would be a good time," Neal said. "I'll be fine here and I tanked up before we left. No food or drinks allowed in the hall, remember."

Peter suspected Neal wanted some alone time to collect his thoughts before the judges arrived so he took off on a mission to find coffee. Looking at his map, he found the food court was called the Galactic Cantina. In the line at the coffee bar, he spotted a familiar Vulcan. Richard had done Travis proud. He made an amazing Spock. He had the uniform, the ears, the subtle tint to the skin, even his eyebrows had been given a slant.

Travis waved him over. "Have you seen Jones and Diana?"

"Not yet. They told me they'd arrive around ten."

"We got to Columbia at four this morning. The SFX lab was a scene of chaos. All the students in Richard's class were there making transformations. They even put me to work. We had to leave at seven, but Angela was still there applying makeup."

"And I thought Neal had it rough. Neal told me you spoke with Henry about the software."

"Yeah, we're going to discuss it further tomorrow. Do you need my help with any of the party arrangements?"

"I may need to call on you tomorrow during the day, but otherwise we're good. El and Angela worked out the schedule yesterday."

When Peter returned to the competition hall, Neal was perched on a stool, looking dazed. "Did I miss anything?"

"Just Alan Lee, the concept artist for _The Lord of the Rings_ ," he said in a hushed voice, "commenting on my paintings. I wish you could have been here. I couldn't believe he'd find anything to like in what I'd done. They're so alien to his style."

Peter was present for the next judge—one of the artists for _Farscape_. By late morning, the judges had all been by. The final one was Doug Chiang who had done much of the production design for _Star Wars: The Phantom Menace_ and _Attack of the Clones_. Peter was amused to hear how Neal had caught the sci-fi wave. Anyone would have thought he lived and breathed science fiction. During his interview with Chiang, Mr. Italian Renaissance was talking about a career in the movies. Art authentication might have to take a back seat.

After Chiang left, Peter asked, "Should I warn Sherkov you're changing career paths?"

He laughed. "Just embracing the moment."

"That was the last judge. The pressure's off now, right?"

Neal nodded. "My fate's in their hands. I can relax."

"Why don't you take a break and go have lunch? I'll stand watch over your paintings." Peter was glad Neal took him up on the offer. He had an ulterior motive and wanted Neal refreshed and alert for what was coming up.

When Neal returned, he urged Peter to take his own lunch break but that wasn't in the cards. "You said you were going to use this opportunity to update me on your museum plans. How about now?"

Neal hesitated. "Are you sure it's wise? In public? It may be better to wait. How about Sunday night after the convention?"

Peter groaned inwardly. He could guarantee that Neal's reluctance to talk about it wasn't because of security concerns. "We'll both sit facing the doors. If Keller comes in, we'll switch topics. The noise in the hall is so loud, no one can overhear us. You've put this off long enough."

After a few stabs at dissuading him, Neal conceded. "Our goal is to capture Keller in the act of trying to steal Tutankhamun's treasure. Simple, right?"

Peter eyed him warily. Neal had now succeeded in convincing him that it was going to be anything but easy. What had the kid concocted? "That's right. Straightforward op. Once you and Keller are in the exhibit hall and the sirens sound, we move in and make the arrests. We'll have a video camera to observe your actions. No drama."

"Keller will be charged with attempted robbery. Realistically, how much time he will serve?"

Peter thought a moment. "You believe he'll be carrying a firearm, so it will be robbery in the second degree. We can make a case of his suspected other crimes. We may be able to get the maximum fifteen years, but realistically it's likely to be less. "

"Keller has ample reserves to hire the best lawyer. He'll be a model prisoner. Out maybe in five or six years?"

Peter shrugged. "Yeah, that's likely."

"And when he comes out, what happens? He'll be out for revenge. He will have had several years to let his resentment fester. He'll be a far more dangerous criminal when he comes out than when he entered."

"What are you suggesting? That we call it off? It sounds like you're saying we'd be better off to."

"No, this is the best chance we have to arrest him and maybe the only one for a long time. We have to milk it for all it's worth."

"Okay, chess master, what game plan are you proposing?"

"We convince him that he needs to confess to a lot more than just the heist at the Met. In order to keep himself from being incarcerated for maybe thirty years or more, he'll have to make a plea bargain, and that will give us the ammunition we need to control him in the future."

"I know I'm not going to like this, but what's your strategy to get him to confess to more crimes?"

"He kills me."

Peter was prepared for something like this and bit back on the sarcastic retort for the moment. Let him dig himself out of his own grave.

"Obviously I don't want him to actually kill me, but just think he killed me."

"Thank you for that, Neal. And how do you plan to accomplish this charade?"

"When you charge in to make the arrests. I'll flee with Keller to another part of the Egyptian wing, the Temple of Dendur. That's a large gallery which doesn't contain fragile artifacts. Once there I'll struggle with Keller for his gun. I will have loaded his gun with blanks."

"When?"

"I'm going to persuade him to give me his gun when we enter the museum. They conduct random security checks at the Met but not of art students. I'll make the switch then. Travis can supply me with bullets that look like Keller's. He uses a Glock 22. I'll use the code we arranged. When we're in the storeroom, I'll make a joke about stealing a painting. If it's a Degas, you'll know I made the switch. If it's Rembrandt, I couldn't make the switch and you'll move in to arrest us while we're still in the exhibit gallery."

"How will you initiate the fight?"

"Do something idiotic, like tell him we should surrender. That should take care of it." Neal took a breath. "Now comes the tricky part."

"Right, 'cause the other stuff is going to be so easy."

Neal raised a hand. "Here me out. I'll have him believe he shot me. I'll use that fake blood bag we used last spring at the airport. You'll arrive on the scene, roll over my lifeless corpse, and let Keller have a good look at me before you drag him off. He's entered the country illegally. You have the right to detain him for a while before he talks with a lawyer. You can use the threat of manslaughter as leverage."

Neal's plan sounded crazy but it could be effective. "Will you wear a bulletproof vest?"

He shook his head. "To sell the con, I need to add some realistic touches, like a gunshot wound. I've already talked with Richard about that. He can prepare a prosthesis. That will help, but to convince Keller I really am dead, I'm going to need to look the part—white, not breathing—and for that there's a drug I can use. It's called tetrodotoxin—"

"Blowfish poison? Did those monsters in your paintings suck out your brain?"

"Shhh. Don't yell. You'll scare the other exhibitors."

Peter lowered his voice while raising the decibel level of his glare. "Do you realize how toxic that is? More toxic than cyanide? The respiratory failure you'd suffer wouldn't just fake your death, it would kill you."

"I've been researching this extensively and in the proper small dose, it won't be fatal. I assume we could arrange to have EMTs present to help out afterward. I'll inject the precise amount needed when we're at the Temple of Dendur. Yes, it would be unpleasant—"

"—Unpleasant?"

"You're yelling again. This is why Mozzie recommended not telling you. He said you'd be much more believable if you didn't know, but I wouldn't do that to you."

"Let me get this straight. You think you're being considerate to let me know in advance that you're going to commit suicide in front me?" Peter stopped himself before letting out the curse that was on his lips and took three deep breaths. "There's no way you're going through with this."

"I have no intention of committing suicide." Neal continued to gaze at him with earnest eyes, as if he were the voice of reason. "Tetrodotoxin is now being used to treat pain. It's not always fatal."

Unbelievable. After all the progress they'd made, how could Neal propose a lunatic scheme like this? And the worst part was that Peter could see how serious he was about it. Sleep deprivation. That must be it. Peter rubbed the kink in his neck which had resurfaced when Neal outlined his plan while he considered how to talk him down. He forced himself to adopt the same low voice Neal used. "I can't believe just when everything's going your way—you're on the Interpol art crimes task force, soon you'll be accepted into Columbia's PhD program—that you're willing to risk it all and try to get yourself killed."

"That's exactly why I have to ensure Keller doesn't escape with a slap on the wrist. Otherwise he'll keep returning, and each time his demands will be worse. Will he go after June or El next time? I can't let this continue, Peter. It's my fault and I've got to fix it."

"Not by killing yourself you're not. Keller's not your responsibility, and you don't get to decide what the best way of dealing with him is. We work as a team or you're not working at all. I should—" Peter bit off his words. With every word he said Neal was looking more stubborn. Blowing up at him would only reinforce his conviction. "Here's what I'll agree to. We get a doctor's opinion—and don't tell me Mozzie has a medical degree from Phoenix University. I want a legitimate expert to weigh in on this. Then and only then will I even consider it."

Neal thought for a moment. "How about Christie? Is she legitimate enough? Diana said she and Christie will both be here tomorrow. We could talk to her then."

"All right, that's acceptable." Peter pulled out his cell phone and called Diana. When Peter explained Neal's idiotic scheme, her exclamation of disbelief was loud enough that Neal could easily hear it, too. She'd said she'd call Christie to start researching it.

When Peter rang off, his blood was still boiling. "I'm taking a lunch break now. You stay put."

Neal huffed his frustration. "You know I can't leave. I need to stay with my paintings."

"I wish you cared as much about your life as you do those paintings."

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

"Then he chewed me out again," Neal concluded, "as if he hadn't yelled enough the first time."

Travis had shown up to see how the competition was going and Neal took the opportunity to fill him in. He figured he better. When Peter returned, he would probably still be furious. Travis looked so much like Spock, it was hard not to think he was telling his tale of woe to a Vulcan. Neal had an almost uncontrollable desire to ask him to perform a Vulcan nerve pinch on someone.

Travis shook his head. "I know it's not what you want to hear, but I'm with Peter on this. I'm no medical expert, but I've read reviews for movies where blowfish poison was used. I remember there was quite a scathing review for _Buried Alive II_ where experts pointed out that the toxin can't be used to fake death. Can't you ask Richard to make a prosthesis that will help sell it?"

"Already did, but if I look the picture of health, Keller's not going to be fooled. I'll work on it some more." Neal wasn't going to give up that easily. He'd wait for Christie. "How's Richard doing?

"The competition is incredibly tough. The entries all look spectacular. Several judges came by this morning, including a surprise celebrity judge— Christopher Heyerdahl. He plays Halling on _Stargate Atlantis_. I don't know who was more flustered, Richard or me. He was incredibly gracious. Spent several minutes talking with us about making aliens and how artists create the look of the Wraiths. He mentioned he wanted to appear as a Wraith someday.

Travis had also checked in on Aidan who was experiencing new producer angst in the video competition. Travis was more talkative than normal, almost chatty. Neal mainly listened—the reverse of their normal roles. But Travis rambled on without Neal needing to prod him.

He hadn't realized his nerves had gone into overdrive—the chess match with Keller and the competition at Tac-Con were at war in his brain. And now the business about the blowfish toxin. He'd been staggered at how quickly Peter had shot it down. Didn't he realize Neal was only doing it so they could keep Keller locked up? Why didn't Peter understand?

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Peter strode through the vendor hall, not paying any attention to the exhibits. Clearly Neal had gone off the deep end. Had the stresses of the past few weeks combined to zap every rational brain cell in his head? Or was it simply a case of sleep deprivation? Even though he'd told Neal he was going to have lunch, Peter was in no mood to eat, unless it was a jar of antacid pills.

He heard rapid footsteps behind him and glanced back. Jones and Diana were hurrying to catch up.

"Why aren't you at lunch?" she demanded. "You said you were taking a lunch break. We looked for you in the cantina."

"I'll eat later."

"No, you won't. You're eating now," Jones ordered. "Never argue with a Klingon. _Mu' chut_."

Peter shot him a startled look as Jones shoved him in the direction of the cantina. "What'd you say? Did you sneeze?"

" _Mu' chut_ ," he repeated emphatically. "That's not a sneeze. It means 'My word is law.' Travis has been helping me practice Klingon in preparation for my role. I'm particularly fond of that expression."

 _Jones speaks Klingon_? Peter had such a hard time wrapping his head around the notion—let alone the thought of Travis and Jones speaking Klingon together at White Collar—that for a moment the insanity of his wayward consultant took a back seat.

Jones commandeered a table with ease at the bustling cantina. While Diana stood in line for food, they guarded her chair. Jones looked so intimidating, most didn't dare approach. One guy in a _Tron_ costume made a halfhearted attempt until Jones scowled and barked _Mej_.

"What did you say to him?" Peter muttered under his breath.

He shrugged. "I just told him to leave. My vocabulary's not very extensive yet, but I've found _my word is law_ and _leave_ work for a surprisingly large number of situations."

Diana returned with Jedi burgers, Ferengi fries, and Kuiper belt milk shakes for the three of them. She and Jones steered the conversation away the looming Neal crisis, insisting instead on sharing their impressions of the convention.

"Any news on the Lovecraft front?" Peter asked

"A few interesting whispers," Diana said, reaching for a fry. "Speculation about a new video game which could be coming out. Fifth or sixth hand rumors that Scima Gameworks may be developing something. There's even buzz about a possible movie or TV series. The Cthulhu Mythos fans are a devoted group."

"Diana and I've been trying to get names of any geeks or hackers who are fanatics. We've added several to our list to be researched."

When Jones took a slurp of his milkshake, Peter couldn't resist chuckling. "Aren't you supposed to be drinking bloodwine?"

"Saving that for happy hour. Sounds like you may need a stop at the bar today too."

"Neal threw me for a loop," Peter acknowledged with a groan. "The problem is he made a reasonable case for tricking Keller, but the method he chose is insane."

"Christie hopes to find a viable alternative," Diana said. "I called Travis to fill him in. He's with Neal now. We figured he'd need someone to talk to."

Peter took a deep breath. "Good idea. I did come down pretty hard on him, but how could he have expected anything else when he advocated something so suicidal?"

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

When Peter returned to the competition room, the crowd had increased. No sign of a Vulcan. Travis must have already left. Neal was perched on a stool next to his paintings talking with a man. Peter could only see the visitor's back, but he was startled by Neal's face. Dismissive and ice-hard. What had the guy done to tick him off?

As Peter approached, the man turned around and walked away. As he made his way through the throng, he vanished right in front of Peter's eyes. Matthew Keller. No wonder Neal gave him high marks. This was the closest Peter had ever been to him and he was struck by how ordinary he looked. A man who could blend in anywhere.

"Did you see him?" Neal asked in a low voice when Peter drew near.

Peter nodded. "What did he have to say?"

"Made the usual snarky comments about my paintings. He's been in contact with his buyers and has commitments to buy the entire shipment. I recorded it on my watch."

Peter called the others to alert them of Keller's presence. Maybe one of them would be able to spot the man and track him down, but after Peter's own experience he didn't view it as likely. Neal's expression had melted only slightly by the end of his calls. Peter made a vow to not make any more references to the toxin. He'd laid down the groundwork for the intervention tomorrow with Christie. They still had time to talk Neal down.

For the rest of the afternoon Peter stuck to safe topics—the other paintings being exhibited, Richard and Aidan's competitions, the vendor booths. He even brought up the costumes he'd seen, making himself an easy target for teasing. The afternoon passed quickly. Peter enjoyed talking with the visitors, too. He made a few notes of titles of upcoming books and movies.

Late in the day, a man approached them who didn't look like an ordinary fan. Instead of jeans and running shoes, he wore a black turtleneck and black dress pants with expensive Italian loafers. Appeared to be around fifty. Was he another judge? Peter thought everyone had already been by.

"Alistair Chapman, Scima Workshop, a pleasure," he said, shaking Neal's hand. He spoke with a British accent, the cultivated voice of a man of authority. He reminded Peter of a youngish Anthony Hopkins. "You have an elegant technique. Tell me about your background."

Neal mentioned briefly his studies at Columbia. His words had been carefully rehearsed with Tricia.

"How did you get your inspiration for"—he stopped to peer at the card for Neal's painting of the seascape—" _Emergence_?"

Neal launched into his description of the painting. "The name of the monster is Azathoth, a creation by H.P. Lovecraft, a writer of horror fiction."

"I'm familiar with Lovecraft. Azathoth is one of the chief deities of the Cthulhu Mythos, is he not?"

Peter took closer note. Chapman even knew how to pronounce Cthulhu.

"That's right. Lovecraft describes him as an 'amorphous blight of nethermost confusion.' "

"Scima is involved in talks about a possible movie project. I've been researching various characters to cast as a villain. Azathoth was mentioned to me as a possibility. Some have called him the creator of all the others—the equivalent of Lucifer. Would you agree?"

Neal nodded. "That's why I pictured him coming out of the ocean. The other creatures are his spawn that are still in the midst of coalescing. I picture Azathoth as the embodiment of evil with the capacity to distort reality and mold it according to his own vision."

"You don't by chance live in a loft, do you?"

Neal looked surprised. "Why do you ask?"

"Are you familiar with 'The Haunter of the Dark'?" At Neal's nod, Chapman turned toward Peter. "It's a short story by Lovecraft in which the protagonist is an artist. He lives in a loft and paints surreal fantastic paintings such as these. He's also a writer, as I recall. The story was suggested as a possible movie plot." He gazed back at Neal and smiled. "I'm sure you have no need to fear your fate will be like his. Did you base your other painting on Lovecraft as well?"

Neal nodded. "I was inspired by Lovecraft's description of Cthulhu."

"Tentacle-faced monsters are a favorite device in horror and science-fiction. Yours seems reminiscent of one I've seen elsewhere." Chapman stepped back to study the painting, considered for several moments and then shook his head. "Can't place it. That room, the furnishings, they all seem rather familiar. In my work, I see so much art, it's hard to keep them straight."

"If you remember, please let me know. I'm trying to get a toehold as a concept artist. I wouldn't want to be accused of ripping off someone's idea." Neal gave him one of his Columbia University business cards he'd prepared.

"I will." He handed Neal his card. "Good luck with the competition. Your talent is clear. If you're ever in London, look us up. I'll arrange for you to have a tour." Chapman then continued to stroll around the hall, talking to the other contestants.

Neal looked over at Peter. "What do you think?"

"That I'd like to know more about Chapman. What happened to the artist in the short story he mentioned?"

"June recently read the story and told me about it. She was also struck by the common elements—art, writing, the loft. You could even say the artist was acting like an investigator. He'd heard about an old abandoned church that was supposedly haunted by something evil. In his explorations of the church, he unwittingly set a demon loose which terrorized the city at night. The artist was found later in his loft, dead, staring with horror at the church through his window." Neal spoke the words calmly, but that's not how Peter felt at hearing them. "Were we just visited by Azathoth?"

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Peter called Jones, Travis, and Diana to meet him outside the competition hall to discuss the incident.

"We mentioned the rumors of a Lovecraft movie at lunch," Jones commented, "but to pick ' _The Haunter of the Dark'_? The similarities to Neal are disturbing."

"But what are we saying?" Diana challenged. "According to his card, Chapman's a creative director. He's not responsible for selecting which movie is made. Scima would have been approached by a film studio. I agree it sounds suspicious, but I can't believe a film studio like, for instance, Paramount Pictures is in league with Azathoth."

"We shouldn't make any assumptions at this point," Peter cautioned. "Chapman's story needs to be thoroughly investigated. I'm going to contact Hobhouse this evening and ask him to look into it. We need to know which studio Scima is working with on the project."

"Do you think the cybercriminal knows we call him Azathoth?" Travis asked.

"Good question," Peter replied. "Mozzie had nicknamed him Azathoth early in our investigation of the Galileo forgery back in October. From the photos on the flash drive we found last month, we know we were under surveillance at that time. Neal or I may have used the word when we were discussing the case. Then, in the house where we were held, we must have used his name several times. I would assume he does know by now."

Jones grimaced. "And no doubt, revels in it. Why did the little guy have to call our cybercriminal the chief baddie among all of Lovecraft's monsters?"

* * *

 ** _Notes_** _: Next week in Chapter 13: Intervention, Christie joins the team for breakfast in the cantina. Their prime directive? Convince Neal there was a better way to defeat Keller than risking his life with a deadly toxin._

 _A special shout-out to Cimmer for the suggestion that Jones speak Klingon. He and Travis have been practicing for the past few weeks in preparation. Christopher Heyerdahl heard about Cimmer being a fan of Stargate Atlantis and insisted on dropping in._

 _Penna Nomen has written about sharing original characters for our blog in a post called "Sharing an OC: For the Birds." I simply can't thank Penna enough for all her support and encouragement during what turned out to be a difficult week for me emotionally. Penna, you're the best!_

 ** _Blog_** _: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation_ _  
 **Chapter Visuals and Music** : The Mirror board on the Caffrey Conversation Pinterest website_


	13. Intervention

**Chapter 13: Intervention**

 **Jacob Javits Convention Center. February 27, 2005. Sunday morning.**

On Sunday morning Peter gave Neal a ride to the convention center. They'd use the Taurus to transport his works back to his studio at the end of the day. Relying on the advice he'd obtained the previous night, Peter vowed to stick to safe topics throughout the drive. He never would have placed Azathoth on the list, but at the moment speculating about Chapman seemed far less stressful than Keller. Neal told him he'd gotten together with Richard and Aidan last night to discuss their events over pizza. From the sound of it, they'd only succeeded in stressing themselves out further.

When they arrived at the cantina, Travis and Jones were already there and in costume. At such an early hour only a few others were having breakfast. Diana had texted that she and Christie were running late since Christie had worked the previous evening and they should start breakfast without them.

Peter was determined to keep the mood upbeat and light, at least until Diana and Christie showed up. He recognized that by blowing up he'd only made Neal dig in his heels. So far Neal appeared to be responding well to the new strategy.

The cantina was doing its part to keep the tone low key. The breakfast menu items all carried _Star Wars_ themes. Neal ordered the Tatooine Sunrise, a cheese omelet. Jones opted for the Darth Vader Waffle, while Peter and Travis selected the Jabba the Hutt pancakes. While waiting for their orders to be prepared, they commandeered a large round table in the corner of the cantina. The _Star Wars_ music being played over the sound system was loud enough they didn't have to worry about being overheard. Travis and Jones had offered to sit facing the door and keep an eye out for Keller in the unlikely event he showed up.

"I got to Prentis at six," Jones said. "Travis, you looked like you'd already been there a while. When did Richard start?"

"We arrived at five. He was still doing makeups when I left and will catch a ride from one of the students later this morning. Fortunately Angela was also there to help."

Neal nodded. "She told me she was coming today. What makeup did Richard use on her?"

"Sorry," Travis deadpanned, "that information is classified."

"Your orders, gentlemen." Peter looked around to see one of Jabba's bounty hunters standing behind him. It didn't seem fitting that he carried a large tray of plates rather than a blaster rifle.

After the waiter left, Jones reported on his research into Chapman. "His story checks out so far. He's listed as a creative director for Scima Workshop. _Workshop_ seems a misnomer for an enterprise as large as Scima, but it started from humble roots back in the 1960s with a small group of sci-fi addicts in England. They got a name for themselves by working on some of the early _Dr. Who_ episodes. They now have branch companies involved in video game development, visual and special effects for the film industry, digital effects—you name it, they're in it. Chapman works at their corporate headquarters in Iver Heath west of London. I'll dig deeper into his background on Monday."

Peter reached for the syrup. "Hobhouse may know by then which film studio is involved with the project."

"Scima is the one offering internships in Richard's competition," Neal added. "The internship is with Scima Gameworks. Their office is near NYU in SoHo."

"Scima has produced some of the best video games that have come to market in the past few years," Jones said. "Having an internship with them is quite a coup. I need to check out their booth."

Neal grinned. "You just want a chance to play their games."

"I'm not concerned with pleasure, Ensign. I'm a warrior. And warriors don't play. They fight. I will be honing my skills."

"While checking out Klingon strategy games," Travis added. "He asked me yesterday if I'd heard of any."

Peter pointed at Travis with his fork. "This is your fault. You were the one who suggested Jones be a Klingon. Look at what you've done to my second-in-command. White Collar will never be the same.

Jones nodded to the door. "Check out the strong female warriors heading our way. Uhura and Dax have arrived."

They all turned around to watch as Diana and Christie sauntered through the cantina. Theirs weren't the only heads to turn. "Did Janet provide the costumes?" Peter asked.

Travis nodded. "Richard and I met them over at Janet's warehouse last Monday to go over the costumes. Diana thought Richard already had his hands full with the prosthetics for the rest of us. She wanted a look that only required minimal makeup. Richard provided the makeup and taught her how to apply Christie's spots so Diana could apply them this morning."

When Diana and Christie had taken seats at the table, Peter asked them if they'd like to order anything for breakfast, but Diana said they'd already eaten. The mood took a more serious turn when they arrived. The crisis intervention had begun.

Christie had picked the chair next to Neal which had been deliberately left vacant by the others. She'd been his doctor when he'd been injured in December. Neal knew her not only as a friend but also as a professional. She was just the one to knock some sense into him. "I hear you're interested in tetrodotoxin or TTX as it's known?" Peter approved of the way she was keeping her voice cool and professional—not bashing him immediately. No doubt she'd call on Peter for that.

Neal was the picture of calm in his reply. "That's right. I've researched it and believe that if used in the precise amount it would enable me to fake death"—he glanced over at Peter and added pointedly—"without actually dying."

Christie turned to face the others. "Yesterday evening I refreshed my memory on the drug. Neal's right in that it's being tested as a possible treatment for cancer-associated pain and also to relieve the symptoms of heroin withdrawal." She returned her gaze to Neal. "But the dosage is not sufficient to come anywhere close to the effect you want. I'm familiar with the myths surrounding blowfish poison, as it's commonly known, and Neal, they're just that. You want the facts? Here are the facts. TTX causes paralysis of voluntary muscles, including the diaphragm, which leads to acute respiratory failure, mental impairment and cardiac arrest. There is no known antidote. Moreover, you'd have such severe vomiting that your last moments would be excruciatingly painful not to mention incredibly messy. The Met's not going to like you being sick all over their gallery."

"With the correct dosage, that won't happen and I can achieve the desired effect."

Christie shook her head. "It's not possible to determine what the correct dosage would be. Sure, you could play Russian roulette with your life and take a million to one chance you wouldn't die, but is it really worth the risk?"

The others were not piling on, waiting to hear Neal's response. If he continued to insist, Peter was prepared to call off the op, but he hoped it wouldn't come to that.

Neal sat back and surveyed them all for a long moment. The raucous sounds of the piped-in music added a farce-like backdrop to what was a deadly serious subject. "All right," he said, raising a hand in acknowledgment, "I agreed to abide by Christie's advice and I will. The floor is now open for suggestions on how I can effectively fake death by another means."

"You're an expert con," Diana said. "Are you telling me you can't act like you're dead?"

"And explain to me why you have to pretend you're dead?" Jones demanded. "Can't you simply be mortally wounded?"

"Not if I appear to be in the bloom of health," he replied. "I could try not sleeping till Tuesday, but then I'd already look like death warmed over at the beginning of the heist."

"Don't count me out totally," Christie said, breaking in. "I do have something I can recommend and not feel like I'm violating my Hippocratic Oath. I researched drugs that would cause a deathlike pallor and discovered there's a derivative of methyldopa which could produce the symptoms you require."

"What's the drug used for?" Neal asked.

"To treat hypertension. Its main side effect is a dramatic pallor which should please you. Additional side effects which you'll applaud are mild dizziness and pupil constriction. Other side effects which you won't like so much are that you're going to feel like you've been run over by an eighteen-wheeler with a headache that will redefine the word _misery_. Voluntary movements will be difficult and painful. If you want to experience this for yourself, I'll sanction it, with the proviso you're monitored in the hospital till the effects wear off."

Peter grilled Christie to his satisfaction about the symptoms. Neal would be able to take the drug five minutes in advance. The symptoms were not strong enough to cause him any difficulty in executing the con nor would they impede the functioning of any of his vital organs.

Greedo, the bounty hunter, returned to carry off their plates. Afterward, Jones pulled out a map of the Egyptian galleries and spread it on the table. "Travis and I worked out an additional possibility. In this acting job of the century you're going to pull, what if you staggered to the reflecting pool in front of the Temple of Dendur where you fall in? You could float helplessly flat on your stomach, blood leaking into the pool. Would that be satisfyingly realistic?"

"I like it," Neal said, "Richard's makeup is waterproof, but I don't think I could hold my breath for very long and still be able to control it when you hoisted me out of the pool."

"That's where I come in," Travis said. "I can build a miniature breathing apparatus which will supply you with five minutes of air. It will be about the size of a cigar tube. Think you could get it to your mouth without Keller spotting it?"

"I could palm it while I stagger toward the pool," Neal said, brightening at the suggestion.

They spent the next several minutes detailing the strategy. The plan was a good one. It wasn't without risk but it wasn't insane. With the crisis averted, Peter was counting on the excitement of the convention to give Neal a break from focusing on Keller and the heist. Sometimes he felt like Neal was a thoroughbred race horse and he was the trainer. It was his job was to keep the horse ready but not burn himself out too early. Now if everything went according to plan, Peter would have a revitalized racehorse ready for the Belmont Stakes on Tuesday.

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

As Neal left the cantina with Peter, he considered how he'd work with the tools Christie and Travis were providing. He had to admit Christie's frank assessment of the toxin had been off-putting. The realization that he didn't need to run that kind of risk to achieve his objective meant one less burden to carry around.

The throng of convention visitors on Sunday was even larger than on Saturday. Both he and Peter were kept busy talking about his paintings. The highlight was a return visit by Alan Lee. This time Peter also got to meet him.

Despite his efforts to tamp down expectations, Neal's excitement was mounting. He reminded himself that the concepts of some of the other artists were more original. He'd simply stolen Azathoth's ideas. Sure, he'd enlarged upon them and given them a drama far beyond what his original paintings had been like. He'd taken elements from the expressionists, added his own spin, and achieved masterpieces both original and soul-wrenching.

Or not.

How could Alan Lee, the genius behind the concept art of _Lord of the Rings_ , possibly like the nightmarish visions Neal had painted?

Neal attempted to relax by evaluating the costumes of the visitors. _Star Wars_ and _Star Trek_ costumes were the most popular. One guy had an impressive Wookiee costume. He stopped by briefly to look at Neal's paintings when Peter was away on a break. Neal tried to talk with him, but he only responded with a few grunts and muffled roars.

When Peter returned, Neal described what he'd missed. "That's your kind of costume. No one would have recognized you, and I know how much you like hairy beasts."

Peter smiled good-naturedly. "I would rather have come as Han Solo. That Wookiee sounded like he needed Han with him."

Peter appeared to genuinely enjoy talking with the visitors. He revealed a side Neal hadn't seen before. He knew much more about sci-fi movies than Neal had expected, but his real strength was in books. Peter spent several minutes in an eye-opening discussion of the spice-rich world of the _Dune Chronicles_ with a group of teens. Was this expansive mood all because Neal had relinquished his plan?

With a start, Neal realized that was the first time he'd thought about Keller in over two hours. It was a good feeling.

Midday the crowd thinned and Neal urged Peter to take a lunch break. As he got up to leave, he broke into a wide smile. Neal turned around to look and was greeted by the sight of four gorgeous Bajoran women heading their way—Fiona, Angela, Sara, and Keiko. So that was Richard's secret commission. Travis probably advised him on how to achieve the proper _Deep Space Nine_ look. They all had crinkly noses and elaborate earrings and were wearing long flowing gowns.

"We're your booster club," Fiona announced, "spreading best wishes and good will."

"We've consulted the Orbs," Angela added, "and they all predict great success for you."

"If the Orbs say it's so, it must be true." Neal turned to Sara. "I'm glad you could make it, too. Fiona's introduced you to everyone?"

She nodded. "She insisted I come along and when I heard costumes were involved, I couldn't resist. We met with Janet on Friday."

"We could have spent days trying on looks in her warehouse," Fiona added with a sigh. "It was heaven."

"You see, Peter, most people enjoy wearing costumes."

"If I looked half as good as these high priestesses, I wouldn't mind," Peter said gallantly.

After chatting a few more minutes, the women headed off to bestow blessings on Richard and Aidan. While Peter was away at lunch, Travis called to suggest Neal join him during his lunch break. All the judges had already made an appearance. The pressure was off. When Peter returned, he said not to rush back and Neal intended to take him up on the offer.

They checked in briefly on Aidan and Richard, then made the rounds of the vendor exhibits. _Star Wars: The Revenge of the Sith_ was coming out in May and had a huge presence at the convention. Neal stopped to watch the trailer while Travis gave him a running commentary on the earlier movies.

As they headed back to the competition hall, Neal caught a glimpse of Fiona and Sara at a jewelry booth. It was tempting to join them. No concerns about Keller. He'd already prepared a script to use if Keller ever spotted him with both Fiona and Sara.

The Wookiee who'd paid him a visit earlier was also roaming the hall. No mistaking him. His costume was much more professional than any of the other Wookiees at the convention. Neal watched him for a moment. Now that he could see him walk, something about his stride seemed familiar.

Neal stopped to observe him more closely. The Wookiee made a beeline for Fiona and Sara and started talking with them. They were laughing. The Wookiee hadn't talked with Neal. What was he saying to them? Was it Keller? Neal's heart began to race.

"What's wrong?" Travis asked.

Apparently Keller hadn't seen Neal. That was a lucky break. Neal gestured for Travis to follow him behind a cardboard cutout for _Stargate-SG1_. "That Wookiee on the far side of the hall talking with Fiona and Sara? He came to see me this morning. There's something not right about him. Keller was here yesterday. He could have come back in costume." Neal started toward them, but Travis grabbed his arm to hold him back.

"What do you intend to do? You can't accost him. That'd tip off your hand. I'll find out what's going on and let you know. You're due back anyway. Peter's going to wonder what happened to you." Travis gave him a shove. "Go on. I'm sure it's nothing."

Travis was right. Neal did need to return to the competition hall, but he was still stressing when he arrived. Peter's radar picked it up right away.

"You were supposed to relax during lunch. What happened?"

"That fellow I told you about in the Wookiee costume . . . I think he's Keller. He made a move on Fiona and Sara. Travis is checking him out now."

Peter sought to calm him down, but Neal knew better. This was so typical. As soon as he let his guard down, Keller seized the opportunity. Would he simply slink off after Travis spoke with him, or would he stay behind? Neal had planned to attend the awards presentation, but he shouldn't. It'd be better for everyone if he took off as soon as the competition hall closed. Peter could return the paintings later and tell him what happened.

"Sit down," Peter ordered. "You're making me seasick with your pacing. Look, here's Travis."

"Did you speak with him?" Neal asked.

Travis nodded. "I got into character and ordered him to take off his headgear so I could perform a mind meld. He was glad to take it off," he added with a chuckle. "Said he was roasting inside. He's an NYU student and his only crime was to make a clumsy pass at Sara. She and Fiona were enjoying teasing him."

"You see, I told you it was nothing," Peter said. "Even if Keller's here, he can't pull anything during the convention. We're all keeping an eye out for him." He turned to Travis. "Remind Jones and Diana to be on the alert for Keller."

Neal sat back down, feeling relieved and somewhat foolish. False alarm. He shouldn't have let his nerves get the best of him and he'd only succeeded in adding to Peter's worries.

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

It was now four o'clock. The results were about to be announced. Peter gazed around the full press conference room. Neal was sitting with Richard and Aidan. They'd been joined by the others who had worked on the video: Mozzie, Fiona, Angela, Michael, and Keiko. Sitting next to them were Janet, Travis, and Sara. Peter was near the front with Jones, Diana, and Christie. Travis had brought a video camera for Jones to record the ceremony, claiming he'd be too nervous to hold it steady. Peter wished El could be here too, but at least she'd be able to see the video. "Any sign of Keller?" he asked Diana.

"No, and given there's no space in the room to cram anyone else in, I don't see how he could possibly enter. We looked for Chapman today but didn't find him."

"I didn't see him either." He nodded toward the left side of the room. "Don't tell Neal, but Chewie's sitting in the back."

Jones held up a hand as he checked the settings on the camera. "It's about to start." On the raised stage in front of them the judges were all in attendance. Peter recognized Alan Lee, Brent Spiner, Christopher Heyerdahl, and Doug Chiang in the group.

The video competition was never in doubt as far as Peter was concerned. He'd seen several of the entries, and the others couldn't begin to compare with _Yellowface, the Masked Avenger_. Aidan wound up winning the cash award. His video was one of the two selected to be presented at Comic-Con. The painting award was more problematic. Neal had convinced Peter he didn't have a chance of winning, but he'd forgotten to inform the judges. They awarded him first prize, apparently to no one's surprise but Neal's. Peter snapped some pictures of him going on stage to collect his award. El needed to see his look of dazed astonishment.

But the biggest victor of all was Richard who won the internship at Scima Gameworks. He was so floored, he just sat in disbelief with his mouth open till Travis forcibly prodded him to go on stage. A representative from Scima was there to announce the winner—a young guy with a shock of ice-blond hair. He looked more like a rocker than a developer. Name of Ian Forster. His cockney accent was thick as he offered his congratulations and joked with Richard.

Peter paid little attention to the announcements of the other categories. He was already anticipating the party ahead which would turn out to be a massive victory celebration, after all.

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

"Why aren't we taking the expressway?" Neal complained. "What happened to Mario Andretti? You seem to be intent on catching every red light."

Peter just smiled. He still hadn't guessed. After the awards ceremony Neal had wanted to go to a bar to celebrate. Richard and Aidan were feeling the same way, and Peter felt heartless to deny them. He'd already planned the excuse, claiming that since El hadn't been able to attend the convention, she'd made reservations for the three of them at a restaurant in Brooklyn. Neal thought they were heading to Columbia first to drop off his paintings.

Travis and Keiko had also fabricated tales. Keiko insisted that Aidan needed to leave with her because her father was coming over that evening. Travis muttered something to Richard about a surveillance assignment. The winners were more than a little miffed.

Angela, Michael, Fiona, and Sara had slipped away immediately after the ceremony. Jones, Diana, and Christie were also on their way. Peter had been given strict instructions to take the slow route to allow time for the party preparations.

They stopped at Neal's studio to drop off the paintings but when Peter headed north to the parking garage afterward, the jig was up. Neal broke into a grin. "What's going on? You might as well go ahead and confess. You know you want to."

"My lips are sealed. I'm under strict orders."

"The only orders you obey are either from Hughes or El. On a Sunday, I'm going out on a limb and guess it's not Hughes."

"You'll find out soon enough. Relax. Go with the flow. Chill."

"Have you been brushing up on your slang?"

"Hanging around with your crowd will do that to a guy."

"Whose idea was this?" Neal asked as they walked to the student center.

"It was a joint project. Fiona and Angela were the ringleaders, but at last count the cast was in the thousands." Neal snorted with pleasure. "Hey, after all the work you guys put into this, you don't think you'd escape without a victory party?"

"What if we hadn't won anything?"

"Then you'd have needed a party even more."

"Good point."

When they entered the student center, they took the stairs down to the party room on the lower level. Peter was already familiar with the location since this was the same room Fiona had reserved for the Thanksgiving feast. When they got downstairs, they spotted Aidan, Keiko, Mozzie and Janet walking ahead of them. Aidan turned around to grin at Neal. "Apparently, Mozzie isn't the only one good at conspiracies."

The party planners were all standing at the doorway to greet them when they arrived. "Superman and Batman, stand aside," El exclaimed. "A new team of superheroes is in town!" A large banner of Yellowface, the Masked Avenger was suspended inside the room with the video playing continuously on a big screen TV. Copies of the Yellowface poster Richard and Neal had designed were hung throughout the room. A stack of extra copies was also lying on a table by the entrance.

"Don't forget to sign those," Diana ordered. "We all want autographed copies."

Angela walked up to Neal, her face flushed with merriment. It was obvious she wasn't going to hold out any longer. "I made friends with an overgrown fuzzball at Tac-Con and invited him to the party too." She called over in the direction of the kitchen, "Come on out, Chewie! Don't be shy."

Neal narrowed his eyes at Peter. "Angela wouldn't have invited any random fuzzball to the party. Even more revealing, Michael doesn't seem bothered by his presence. Don't you have another confession to make?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Peter said, struggling to keep a straight face. It was going to be such a relief not to have to maintain the charade any longer.

Chewie sauntered out from the kitchen with a muffled roar and struck a pose.

Neal strode up to him. "Reveal yourself!" He pulled off his head mask to uncover Henry's grinning face. The next few minutes were pandemonium with hugs, back slaps, and introductions all around.

"Had ya going, didn't I?" Henry said, wrapping an arm around Neal's neck.

"I knew it was you all the time," Neal replied, struggling to maintain his cool.

"Yeah, right," Travis said, rolling his eyes. "If I hadn't intervened, you were about to go Rambo on him."

"Blame it on Angela," Henry added, releasing Neal and walking over to hug her. "She told me in no uncertain terms this was one event I couldn't miss, so I decided to make a stopover on my way to France." He explained how El prevailed on Janet for help with the costume. Henry had stayed at their home last night with El dropping him off in the morning at Tac-Con before going to the wedding she was coordinating.

The conspirators had kept the party simple with massive amounts of pizza brought in from where else but the Flying Saucer Pizza Company, supplemented with salads and snacks. It might not have been the largest party ever held in the room, but Peter could vouch for it being one of the most colorful. Everyone remained in their costumes except for Henry who took advantage of the first opportunity to change into something cooler.

The party planners had moved several tables to form one large banquet table. Opposite Peter and El, Neal was sitting between Henry and Fiona with Sara next to Henry.

El leaned over to whisper in Peter's ear. "I wonder if Mozzie has ever been included in an event like this?"

"I can't imagine he has. He took a huge leap to emerge from the shadows at least for Neal's friends, and it's clear he's feeling very pleased about it right now. Even Jones had kind words to say to him."

El whispered back. "Jones will probably deny it later. He'll claim that it was the Klingon talking, not him."

Once the pizzas were demolished, Angela and Michael headed for the kitchen, returning a short time later with an immense platter which they set down on the center of the table.

Travis's eyes widened when he saw it. "A Star Trek cake?"

Angela nodded proudly. "Thanks to Michael's amazing cake-baking talents what you have here is a devil's food cake with galactic blue frosting surrounded by tribble cupcakes."

"Travis, this is in your honor," Aidan added. "You've been the driving force behind this from the get-go."

But there was one more surprise in store. For that Fiona took the lead. Walking over to a side cabinet, she opened it and pulled out a large party bag decorated with planets and spaceships. "I learned over Thanksgiving about the quaint customs you have in the colonies. One of them is the exchange of a certain item during celebrations. With Elizabeth and Keiko's help, I came prepared this time." She passed out boxes in sci-fi gift wrap to Mozzie, Richard, Aidan, and Neal, who by this time were all grinning so broadly their faces were going to split. Mozzie was overtaken by an uncontrollable attack of the giggles and looked like the youngest kid of them all. They opened their boxes to reveal socks, decorated with green space aliens and flying saucers.

"And with special thanks to all our loyal supporters who've put up with us during these last frantic weeks," Fiona added, "we'd like everyone here to have their own socks as well." Her remarks were greeted with thunderous applause.

"But I didn't do anything to deserve this," Sara protested, laughing at her pair of socks.

"Your support may have been of a different type," Fiona replied, "but it was just as appreciated. Call it a thank you in advance for tomorrow."

"What was that about?" El asked Peter in a low voice.

"Sara's going with Neal on a lunch date. Neal was concerned Keller might make a play for Fiona as an insurance card now that heist is so close to happening, and she's stepping in as the pinch hitter."

"Fiona told me that Angela arranged a picnic lunch today for Henry. Fiona, Sara, Keiko, and Michael joined her and Henry on the second floor where the others wouldn't see them."

"You know, our plan almost backfired. Neal began to stress that Keller had disguised himself as Chewie. When he saw Henry talking with Angela and Fiona, Travis had to make up a story about checking him out before Neal would calm down." Peter shook his head. "This op can't happen soon enough, as far as I'm concerned. I've never seen him so tense."

"The party is just what he needs. Henry too, for that matter." El nodded in their direction. "Look at them now."

Henry had pulled up a chair next to Richard and Aidan and the three of them were laughing over some story. Fiona and Sara were talking to Neal, who appeared to be basking in their attention. All this meant that Peter could breathe easier too. As long as Neal was with others, he didn't have to worry about him going rogue again.

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

After the meal, Fiona invited everyone to stay for an impromptu band session. The party conspirators had already brought over the instruments. Neal was glad to see no one was in the mood to rush off. He wanted to hold onto the festive feeling as long as he could.

But before playing any music, he needed to clear the air. Neal pulled Henry into a corner while the others were preparing the instruments. "What's this about France?"

"I talked Win-Win into letting me approach the French aviation authorities about our software. While there I'll meet with our partners about Fowler. I know Interpol's already working with the French Sûreté but a few extra guys in the field can't hurt."

"You're not planning to do anything on your own are you?"

Henry froze him with a look. "You're lecturing me after the stunt you tried to pull? Does blowfish poison ring a bell? Chill, kiddo. I won't do anything stupid. Can you say the same for yourself?"

Figures. As upset as Peter was, he wouldn't have been able to keep it from Henry. Neal didn't want to get into a heated discussion about it now. Henry had asked to stay with him overnight. He'd deal with it then. When Travis came over to ask Henry to help set up the sound equipment, Neal took advantage of the opportunity to pull Fiona aside. "The others can manage without you. I haven't had a chance to thank you."

She fingered his jacket lapel. "I expect you to make up for that after this is over. Only a couple more days, right?"

He pulled her close and gently touched her nose. "I wish I could steal my Bajoran princess away right now. Can you twitch your nose and transport us to another world, far, far away?"

She smiled and crinkled her nose. "There. I cast a magic spell. For this evening you're in my realm."

After a long moment that he wished could have gone on for several, she pulled away. "I brought this for you." She reached into the pocket of her gown and pulled out a pewter amulet on a chain. "It's a Celtic triquetra—a good luck amulet. Even a powerful wizard can use an extra ward." She undid the clasp and suspended it around his neck.

He took her in his arms. "Keller might as well surrender now and lock himself up in a cell. He doesn't stand a chance."

When they rejoined the group, Henry was already playing guitar with Richard. "Where'd he get a guitar?" Neal asked.

"I brought one over for him," Fiona said. "I also borrowed a cello for Sara." She walked over to Sara who was standing talking with Diana and Christie. "Why haven't you joined the others on stage?"

Sara held up a hand to protest as she backed off with a laugh. "Oh no, not me. I'm not good enough. I haven't practiced in weeks. I was just saying my goodbyes before taking off."

Fiona had no intention of relenting. "Don't tell me I lugged a cello over here in vain. Surely you can make a sustained drone on one note?"

"She's already coerced Jones to play tambourine," Neal advised. "You have to be better than him."

As she pulled a reluctant Sara toward the impromptu stage, Fiona added, "Afterward I'll help the two of you practice your technique."

Neal turned around to stare at her. "What technique?"

"For your fake date. You want to be convincing, don't you? I expect a kiss on the street would shatter any illusions Keller might have that I'm your one and only."

"Isn't playing the cello enough stress for one evening?" Sara asked rolling her eyes. "Neal and I can wing it tomorrow."

"Agreed," Neal said firmly. He'd already kissed one woman in front of Fiona and had zero desire to perform an encore.

The festive mood continued during the band session. Members improvised and played snatches of songs, with no one concerned about trying to put on a polished performance. The sight of Michael instructing Jones the Klingon on proper tambourine technique while Travis the Vulcan was pounding away on his digital drums was something Neal wasn't going to forget for a long time. Henry was being a typical ham. When he wasn't playing guitar, he commandeered Travis's drums.

During a break Henry strolled over to Neal. "You're a lucky man. Angela's been filling me in on the details of this group. Now I understand why she enjoys it so much."

"I'm glad you finally got to meet everyone."

"The Scoobies?" Henry said with a laugh. "Yeah, it's high time we connected."

No one was in a hurry to leave, but as the evening wore on, the late nights everyone had been keeping were catching up on them. They closed the session with a rousing version of "Mummers' Dance" with Angela and Fiona singing it together, spinning in their Bajoran gowns as they danced around the group.

"Before you pack up, I have a request," Henry said. "Angela's been praising the guitar duets you and Richard perform. I'd like to hear one for myself."

Neal shrugged agreement. "All right, but I can't hold a candle to Richard's guitar playing."

"And I'm no singer," Richard added, "so be kind."

"And neither one of you is as awesome as me," Henry said with a grin. "So now that we've got that cleared up, what are you going to play?"

"It better not be 'Slip Slidin' Away,' " Travis warned. "I walked in on those two goofballs a few days ago in Richard's studio when Richard had just threatened to destroy his sculpture. They were wallowing in misery and making up their own lyrics."

Henry eyed Neal appraisingly. "Interesting choice of music. I'd like to hear those lyrics."

Fortunately Richard laughed away that suggestion. "I'm done with that. I want to hold on to the future that I can see just emerging on the horizon."

"I'll second that," Neal agreed, wishing his own looked as secure as Richard's did. Shaking off the negative vibes, he proposed 'Clear the Way.' Richard had discovered the song by the Irish musician, John Doyle. It told the story of an Irish soldier fighting in the Civil War who had to slay a fellow Irishman. Despite the sadness of the lyrics, the song was a rousing one.

As they played the song, several others joined in the chorus. Afterward, everyone took the hint and pitched in to clear away the party debris.

Neal paused folding up chairs to gaze around the room at his friends chatting and laughing while they tidied up the room. Neal was filled with an overwhelming desire to protect them. As long as they were safe, what happened to him really didn't matter.

"You have a great crew here," Henry commented as he folded up a table.

"They're the best," Neal replied, fixing their images in his mind. He carried the chairs over to the stack along the wall then picked up a stray beer bottle. Mozzie was alone at the bar rinsing empties. Neal carried the bottle over and placed it next to him. "Any problems?" he asked in a low voice.

Mozzie shook his head. "I found a source," he murmured back.

Neal nodded. "Tomorrow at five o'clock, the bunker?"

"I'll be ready."

* * *

 ** _Notes_** _: The celebratory mood from the convention won't last long, as witnessed by the conversation between Neal and Mozzie. Peter may believe Neal won't go rogue on him again, but he'd be well advised to keep a careful watch on him._

 _Coming next week in Chapter 14: Clearing the Way, Neal goes on a fake date with Sara and has a clearing of the air with fellow lone wolf Henry. Keller also reemerges to plague Neal's life._

 _Thanks to Cimmer for calling Aidan and Richard Scoobies. Henry liked it so much, he laid claim to it._

 _The team had fun with costumes in this chapter and that is the subject of my post for our blog_. _The post is called "A Klingon, a Vulcan, and a Viking Walk into a Bar."_

 _Next Sunday is Mother's Day—a time for us to remember and honor both the moms who are still with us and those who've passed away. Penna Nomen has written a moving account about writing as therapy in her new post for our blog. The roots of Caffrey Conversation lie in the grief she was feeling about the loss of her mother. Many readers have been touched by the scenes depicting Byron's death and Neal's reaction to it. It's extraordinarily gracious of her to write about a subject which evokes many painful memories._

 ** _Blog_** _: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation_ _  
 **Chapter Visuals and Music** : The Mirror board on the Caffrey Conversation Pinterest website_


	14. Clear the Way

**Chapter 14: Clear the Way**

 **Neal's Loft. February 27, 2005. Sunday night.**

When the party broke up on Sunday night, Henry returned with Neal to stay overnight in the loft. Rather than staying in a guest room, he insisted on sleeping on the couch. "It will be like old times," he said. "I bet you have a few beers among all those bottles of wine. Peter will give you a pass if you show up late at work. My plane doesn't leave till eleven tomorrow, and I'll sleep on board."

No need to be a mind reader to know what Henry wanted to talk about. The previous night he'd stayed with Peter and El. Blowfish was undoubtedly on the menu. But Neal was ready for any mind games Henry might pull. He'd formulated his approach as soon as Henry unmasked himself.

Henry didn't bother unpacking but grabbed a t-shirt and a pair of sleep pants to change into. Neal fetched him a beer from the supply he kept on hand for Peter and poured himself a glass of honey wine from an open bottle in the fridge. A week ago Mozzie had brought over several bottles of a blend that was supposed to have a particularly calming effect on the nerves—Ohelo Sunset—and ordered him to drink at least a bottle a day. No wonder he was stressed. He hadn't begun to drink the required dosage. Henry rifled through Neal's CD collection and put on Coldplay's _A Rush of Blood to the Head_.

 _Subtle, Henry, really subtle._

They both sprawled on the couch. Neal had a leisurely sip of wine and waited for Henry's opening gambit. When it came, his choice was unexpected.

"You remember, I've been talking about opening a branch office in New York? It looks like it's finally going to happen. Thanks to the facial recognition software project, we're deepening our international resources. Allen Winston and I have already discussed the move. I'd head up the New York team."

"Heading up your own office? Congrats, bro!" Henry had mentioned it off and on for a few years, but now it was actually going to happen.

"I'm glad you're smiling about it. You're not concerned about me invading your turf?"

"Not at all. You want to join the band? We need a tambourinist what with Michael having moved on to tin whistle."

"Oh, I think I could start with something other than tambourine."

"We'll see. We have rigorous tryouts, you know."

"Yeah, right," he scoffed. "I've heard Michael, remember?"

"Yeah, and you got to talk to him too. I heard about the picnic Angela organized for you. Did he get the Henry stamp of approval?"

Henry snorted. "He's already got Angela's approval—mine is pending. But I like him. He's got a quiet strength which she needs, and clearly he's devoted to her."

"I think they've both fallen hard. Michael has a bright future ahead, in case you're wondering. He's sailing through his doctorate work and has a real eye for contemporary art. I can see him running an art gallery or being curator of a museum in a few years." Neal stood up to refill his glass. "If you're going to live in New York, you better get used to honey wine. You want me to get you a glass?"

"Wine over beer?" Henry let out a moan. "I'll have to convince Mozzie to go into the honey mead business, but until that happens I'm sticking with my hops." He took another swig to prove his point. "I can see why you like Fiona so much. I know I pushed you toward Sara, but—"

"You didn't have to push very hard. Sara and I will always be friends."

"Hey, let me finish. I'm in the moment here. Fiona has her own strengths. She's a much better musician for one thing. Has a higher opinion of me for another."

"Is that so?"

"Okay, maybe not. I guess you'll have to ask her about that, but it's obvious how much she cares about you. I can tell already you'd be very lucky to wind up with her."

"Don't I know it." He wished the same thing could be said for her. "So, tell me more about Paris."

Henry described how Win-Win had completed negotiations with several investors who had been bilked by Adler's Ponzi scheme and now had the required financial backing to launch a full-scale investigation. Fowler's trip to Paris was the first lead they'd gotten in the case and he'd use the trip to consult with Win-Win's partner firm in France. Henry also had meetings scheduled with French security officials to begin testing the facial recognition software at Charles de Gaulle Airport. Listening to Henry ramble on about his plans, Neal toed off his shoes and put his feet on the cocktail table. Mozzie's wine appeared to be having its intended effect.

Henry got up to help himself to another beer. "You know, when I first looked into Fowler back last December, I was convinced he was working for Adler. I thought if I could just get Adler put away, you'd be home clear."

Finally the opening he'd been waiting for. "It's not that I don't appreciate your efforts to clear the way. You were doing the same with Kate last spring—paying her off to leave me alone. Just remember, I'm not a kid anymore and can fight my own battles. However . . . if you're bound and determined to fight the good fight, I wouldn't mind a little assistance."

Henry shot a speculative glance at him. "With Keller?" he asked, raising a brow.

"No, Azathoth." Neal sat back to watch his reaction.

"Aza-what?"

"Azathoth," Neal repeated. "That's our nickname for him. He's a cybercriminal with a fascination for Lovecraft . . . and for playing nasty tricks. He's been plaguing us since last October. Kidnapped Peter and me, stalked us, made what some might call a death threat against me."

Henry glared at him. "You're just making this up."

"Nope. Go ahead and call Peter if you want. He'll confirm it all."

"And why is this the first time I'm hearing about it? You two were kidnapped?"

"That's right. You were in India. Nothing you could have done. Peter and I managed fine." Neal swung his feet off the cocktail table and sat up straight. Adopting a serious tone, he added, "And none of our other relatives knows about this. That includes Angela. I know I can trust you to keep them out of it." For the next hour he proceeded to relate their experiences with Azathoth and the projects the team had developed to combat the cybercriminal. By the time he got around to explaining about Diana's fan fiction they'd talked their way through Coldplay and had switched to _Fallen_ by Evanescence.

"Azathoth is the twisted sort of criminal mastermind that requires a genius to combat him. His machinations are so extreme that he's succeeded in what I would have considered impossible. Mozzie is now working in harmony with two suits. You care to take a crack at him?"

"Oh, yeah," Henry said, "but you're going to have to stop holding out on me."

"You got it," Neal said smoothly.

Henry looked suspiciously at him but let it ride. "Those comments Chapman made at the convention . . . Bringing up that short story could be considered a threat."

"If Azathoth had somehow instigated the idea, he could be simply taunting us like he did with the playing card he sent to Peter last month."

"But in each case he references you, not Peter. Apparently he considers you much more of a target than Peter is."

"Or he's trying to use me to get to Peter. I may have become a liability to Peter."

"Don't do that," Henry said quickly.

"What do you mean?"

"Blame yourself for anything that happens to someone else. That's always your first inclination, and you gotta stop it. Let's assume for the moment Azathoth is seeking to exact vengeance on Peter. If you take yourself out of the game, he could target El instead. So if you have any thoughts about removing yourself from the scene, think again. Disappearing can have unforeseen consequences."

Neal didn't answer, hoping Henry would take his silence as acquiescence.

"So you're starring in fan fiction now?"

Neal nodded smugly. "Jealous?"

"Doesn't Urban Legend need fan fiction?"

"Good idea. You should work on that. Diana will be happy to show you the ropes." Neal yawned. "It's been a long day, and I'm beat. I'm hitting the sack." He stood up to collect bedding for Henry.

But Henry wouldn't let him escape that easily. Just before turning out the lights, he commented, "Peter told me you'd agreed not to use the blowfish poison. You're promising me too, right?"

"You must have had quite a discussion last night."

"Yeah, we did. You really should give him a break. Making his blood pressure soar like that isn't healthy. As a member of the family I'm lodging a protest here and now."

Neal winced. "He was upset, I know."

"That's a mild term for what he was feeling and I'm still waiting, kiddo."

"It's a promise. I recognize it was a mistake." He hoped Henry realized his feelings were genuine. On so many levels he'd bungled that. "The new plan we've worked up will be safer and just as effective. Would you like to hear the details?"

That caught Henry by surprise. Neal could see the wheels in his head grinding to figure out what he was up too, but Neal didn't give him a chance to challenge him. Neal took him through the op, laying out Christie's offer and the team strategy. Yes, this was the new Neal Caffrey, team player. Neal kept at it long enough that even Henry was yawning, and Neal's eyes were closing while he was talking.

But once he lay in bed, sleep wouldn't come. Perhaps it was for the best. He knew the reason Henry had insisted on sleeping in the loft was because he was concerned Neal was having nightmares. He needn't have bothered. The nightmare that was Keller wasn't just when Neal slept.

Neal felt good about their talk. He'd eased Henry's concerns about the upcoming op. He'd displayed his new openness by discussing Azathoth, someone who posed no threat to Henry. Best of all, Henry was moving to New York. In the worst case scenario, Henry could take Neal's place and help Peter bring Azathoth to justice. Against a maniacal genius like Azathoth, Henry would probably be better than Neal, although Neal would never admit it to his face.

Henry's projected move to New York helped take the pressure off. With Peter taken care of, Neal could focus all his attention on Keller.

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

The next morning Neal slept in longer than he'd intended. Sometime during the night Henry must have gotten up and turned off the alarm. Neal was too rushed to be upset. No time for breakfast or even to make coffee before Henry needed to leave for the airport.

Henry gave him a lift to the Bureau. Neal was pleased that during the drive Henry didn't mention anything about nightmares, contenting himself with a reminder not to do anything dumb like Henry might have done before he grew up. Neal breathed easier when he saw he'd be clear of any lectures. Clearing the way, that was going to be his motto for the next few days. Take care of Keller once and for all. And he had to admit having his first decent night of sleep in two weeks wasn't a bad way to start.

The most pressing issue on the docket for today was to verify that the Met was on board with their plan. He'd spoken with Martine Giron several times last week and they'd worked out contingency arrangements for the sting to take place on Tuesday night. But if the director didn't okay it, they'd be forced to revamp the plan. If that happened, Neal was going to insist Fiona be moved into a safe house.

When he arrived at work, Neal headed for the lab where Travis had his gear ready for him. In addition to the breathing device, Neal picked up two small digital test meters.

Next stop was the bullpen where Neal set to work clearing his way through the emails that had accumulated over the past several days. Routine stuff but it had to be done. He'd been working at it for an hour when Peter called him upstairs to his office.

"I heard from the Met. The Director's given his blessing. We're on. We've been given permission to use the storeroom next to Gallery 118 which is adjacent to the exhibition. What's your timetable?"

"I'll meet Keller at the museum at 7:30 in the evening. We'll stroll through a couple of the exhibits and then hide in the designated maintenance room. He'll believe we're timing the heist based on the guard schedule my supposed contact gave me. We'll begin at 11:20."

Peter motioned him to take a seat. "You're going to be spending hours with Keller in that cramped space. What will you do all that time?"

"Keller will probably doze. That was his pattern in the past."

His explanation appeared to ease his concerns as Peter didn't raise any objections. "While you're here today, have Travis check out your watch and verify it's working properly."

"All right, but don't expect to hear much. Those rooms aren't soundproof. We won't want to alert the guards."

"When are you going to tell Keller the schedule?"

"He'll probably contact me this afternoon. If not, I'll call him tomorrow morning."

Peter shook his head. That wasn't sitting well. "You're playing it awfully close. Won't he demand more information up front?"

"He doesn't expect me to let him in till the last moment. Remember he thinks I'm a white-collar version of him. Zero trust. Keller believes I have an inside contact at the Met who'll move the custodian overalls and equipment into the storeroom. We'll use janitor carts to carry off the treasure. He believes that transport away from the museum will be a maintenance van."

"And Keller's going to buy all that without verification?"

"Why not? If the equipment's not in place, he'll call it off with no risk to him."

"What if he suspects a double-cross?"

"He won't know till we've made the attempt. You will have already arrested him, so what can he do? I'll tell him that tomorrow I'm going to call in sick and that I plan to crash at the loft in the afternoon. That's what he'd expect."

Peter's phone rang. He held up a hand for Neal to remain in his office, and looked at the caller ID. "It's Henry." When he answered the phone, he told Henry he was putting the call on speaker.

Neal could hear the concourse announcements at JFK airport while Henry talked. "Glad I caught both of you. Win-Win just called me to report they discovered another match on the software. This time it's Keller." Neal and Peter exchanged quick glances. "They'd been working backwards through the data and found that Keller was recorded at the Buenos Aires airport in December. He was shown leaving the airport on December 20. So far we've been unable to find any other match." Henry rang off with a final warning to take into account that Keller could be working for Adler.

"My initial reaction is to call the op off," Peter admitted afterward, shaking his head.

At his words Neal couldn't stay sitting down. "What good would that accomplish? You don't have anything to hold Keller on. He'd realize I was playing him, he'd leave the country, and we'd be in worse shape than before."

Peter exhaled slowly. "Calm down. I said it was my initial reaction, not what I'm advocating we do. Stop hovering." He nodded pointedly to the chair.

Neal took a deep breath and resumed his seat, forcing himself to quiet his thoughts. He was going to spook Peter otherwise and that was the last thing he wanted.

"Let's assume Keller is working for Adler. You've been telling Keller you're working a long con to use Columbia and the FBI to infiltrate the art world at a deeper level than has ever been done before. Do you think Adler would believe it?"

"Most likely. Nothing's happened that would contradict it. The fact I refused to run away with Kate on a vague suggestion that Adler was planning something big only proves I'm not as gullible as I once was. It reinforces the image I'm trying to project."

"If Keller is working for Adler, could Adler be one of his buyers?"

Neal considered for a moment. "Adler fits the profile. He's got the funds. He likes to surround himself with treasures."

"He also may think Keller will be able to succeed where Kate didn't. In that case having sufficient leverage to squeeze Keller once we've captured him is more important than ever. He could provide evidence against Adler and Fowler." Peter glanced at his watch. "It's time we brief the others. What's your schedule the rest of the day?"

"I'm meeting Sara at the Café Boulud at twelve. Then, if it's okay with you, I'm heading home for some down time before my class in the evening."

Peter nodded. "Go ahead. Make sure that down time includes depressurizing. Paint, run, do whatever it takes."

Neal summoned up a smile meant to convey reassurance. "That's my intention." From Peter's look, it fell a little short of the mark but it would have to do.

During the briefing, Peter reported the latest news about Keller but most of the time was spent on a discussion of the Lovecraft movie that Alistair Chapman had referred to at the convention.

"Hobhouse had obtained copies of the correspondence about the movie yesterday," Jones said. "The emails were from Paramount's Vice-President of Production and extend back for one month. He'd written the President of Scima Workshop about an idea for a Lovecraft movie based on the short story Chapman mentioned. I contacted our Los Angeles office and one of their agents checked with Paramount first thing this morning. The Vice-President was just interviewed and denies any knowledge of the correspondence."

"I'm working with the Los Angeles team on the data Paramount has provided us and coordinating operations with the London team working on Scima's files," Travis added. "Both Paramount and Scima are cooperating fully. Apparently they were victims of a hacker attack. The investigation of how their email systems were breached is just beginning."

"Then this was another one of Azathoth's hoaxes?" Neal asked.

Jones nodded. "Apparently so. The sophistication of the hack matches his profile. Whoever planted the emails from the Paramount Vice-President had studied his correspondence sufficiently to match his style. The normal protocol was followed. Hobhouse spoke with the President of Scima this morning. He confirmed that no red flags were raised by anything contained within the messages. The story was simply one of many concepts under discussion. He'd farmed the idea out to Chapman to research."

"What about Chapman?" Diana asked. "Anything suspicious in his background?"

"He checks out," Jones said. "He's been working in the film industry for twenty-seven years. Started out as a set designer and is now a creative director."

"Did he ever work in IT?" Neal asked.

"Some sort of cyber genius?" Jones shook his head. "Nothing in his record to indicate it. No police record. I learned more about him from his bio on the Scima Workshop site than from Interpol."

Peter stroked his chin. "It still seems strange that someone like Chapman would be so knowledgeable about Lovecraft. On the surface it appears to be a childish prank—an excuse to taunt us about the ease with which Azathoth could control any game plan he feels like devising, but is there something more at play here?"

"From the beginning Azathoth has been associated with art," Jones said. "There's no known use of his malware anywhere except within a museum, although it could be used to disable security at a number of other institutions such as banks. I don't know of any other Lovecraft story that features an artist, so it makes sense Azathoth would pick it."

"But Peter's right," Diana said. "The similarity between that story and Neal is troubling."

"Henry wondered if he weren't trying to provoke us into some action by psyching us out," Neal said. "He wants us to obsess about him."

Peter raised a brow. "You told Henry about Azathoth?"

"Now that the facial recognition software is being considered for museums, I felt he needed to know. Besides, Henry's probably going to be moving here in the next couple of months." Neal hesitated and shrugged. "It was time to bring him up to speed."

"Diana, you're having Neal paint in your stories, aren't you?" Travis asked.

She nodded. "He dabbles."

"Have you included a theme similar to 'The Haunter of the Dark'?"

"Not yet. Do you think I should?"

"Have Tricia weigh in on it," Peter advised. "I'm inclined to advise against it. It might only encourage him to act out the scenario."

"I don't think that's likely," Neal countered. "He hasn't carried out his threat with the card he sent in January."

"Don't forget the detective in Prague," Peter cautioned. "You talk about working a long con. He may be doing the same. It's too early to make any assumptions."

Azathoth working a long con? Peter made an interesting point, but in that case what was his objective? Neal made a note to bring that up with Tricia next time they met. "I'd like to know more about the artist Chapman mentioned whose work seemed similar to mine."

"It's hard to believe anything will come out of it," Travis said. "Tentacle-faced monsters are a common occurrence in science fiction."

"Tricia and I are meeting with Mozzie tomorrow about the coded message I received," Diana noted.

"Has he had any luck in deciphering it?" Jones asked.

"Not so far. He gave me a burner phone to use to contact him, because, of course, he wouldn't trust the FBI-issued phone. I called him last night and he answered me in some foreign language. I think it was Latin."

Peter chuckled. "Take it from me. If Mozzie's speaking Latin, it's a good sign. He muttered to himself constantly in Latin when he solved the mystery around the Galileo manuscript last fall."

The rest of the briefing was spent on ironing out the details for the sting at the Met the next day. Peter went into overdrive on the plans for that. Neal didn't give him any grief over it, but he could have. He was overworking it. Neal would lay money that it wouldn't go down as they were expecting.

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

When Sara heard where Neal was taking her for their fake date, she was impressed. Café Boulud was one of the trendiest French restaurants in Manhattan. It was also only a block away from Weatherby's. He must have been thinking she'd be running late. He knew her well.

She'd selected a jade-green silk suit to wear for her role as Tiffany Case, decoy girlfriend. On Saturday, she'd borrowed a copy of _Diamonds Are Forever_ from the hotel library and invited Fiona over to watch it with her. They'd ordered room service and laughed over the wild plot while having smoked salmon and champagne. In the movie Tiffany was a smuggler who partnered with James Bond to recover a fortune in diamonds. It was unfortunate Sara didn't have a diamond-studded camisole in her wardrobe to wear for her fake date, but the one she wore was as daring as she could manage and still pass muster at Sterling-Bosch. She longed for Tiffany's bright red Mustang to make a grand appearance.

Sara felt like she was walking onto a movie set when she entered the restaurant. She was glad to see her outfit didn't clash with the coral upholstered chairs and saffron-colored walls lined with contemporary art. Standing by one of the tables was her leading man, a cheerful smile on his face.

They kept conversation on the light side while they feasted on seared duck breast with fig and quinoa. Neal ordered a bottle of Meursault to accompany the refined cuisine. Sara usually didn't drink at lunch on a work day, but Tiffany was loving it. Judging by the way Neal's eyes were dancing, James Bond was having a good time too. The meal passed far too quickly.

Neal seemed to be in no mood to hurry off and her afternoon schedule was light so they lingered over dessert and coffee.

"Do you know when you're going back to London?" he asked.

"I leave Friday. The panel is scheduled to finish its review tomorrow. We're allowing two extra days, because everything at Weatherby's runs late—and don't say that it's the perfect place for me."

"Not even a little tease?" he asked with a laugh.

"Just you wait. Spring is almost here. I'm turning over a new leaf."

"Um-hmm. You want to have a friendly wager on that? You know, our paths may cross in Europe now." Neal explained that he and Peter had been selected for an Interpol art crimes task force. As he filled her in, his excitement about the appointment was clear.

Sara was ecstatic at the news. Interpol must have forgiven his past record and realized the old Neal Caffrey no longer existed. She looked forward to telling Bryan his fears were groundless.

After lunch Neal accompanied her back to Weatherby's. As they neared the auction house, they said their goodbyes. This would probably be their last meeting before she returned to England. Neal must have been thinking the same thing since he remarked that the next time they saw each other might be in London.

"You're on. Lunch will be my treat." She paused. Should she bring it up or was it the Meursault talking? "Remember what Fiona said? Aren't we supposed to sell our date?"

"I always listen to Fiona," he said with a smile, pulling her close to him. "She has remarkably sound advice."

Sara had been ready for a quick kiss, but as they melted into the moment, the kiss lingered much longer than she'd expected. _God, it was good_ , she thought. _The sacrifices I make for friendship . . ._

Neal stepped back, a devilish smile on his face. "Keller might still be around. Care for another take?"

Sara hesitated just long enough for him to draw close then teased, "Next time, London, and I'm going to win that bet!"

She found she was still smiling when she walked inside Weatherby's. Did Fiona realize how lucky she was? If she were Fiona, she'd grab onto Neal and not let him go.

Sara rode the elevator to the third floor and opened the door to her office.

"At last! I didn't think you were ever coming back from lunch." Bryan was sitting in her desk chair waiting for her. He stood up and walked over to greet her.

"When did you get here?" she blurted out.

"I arrived a few hours ago. I was missing you too much. Yesterday, I decided I'd had enough of moping around London and used some of my vast reserve of frequent flyer miles. I can afford to take a few days off to be with my best girl."

Bryan drew her into his arms to kiss her, but she held him back. "In the office? What will people say?"

"What do we care?" He closed the door behind him.

Had he seen her with Neal? He wasn't acting like he had, but there were windows on the third floor that overlooked the street. She shouldn't feel guilty. She was simply acting a part. What if he had seen her? It was easily explained.

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Neal took the subway back to the loft after saying goodbye to Sara at Weatherby's. Lunch had been a pleasant diversion. It was hard to believe their conversation had been so awkward a couple of weeks ago when she'd been at the office. He put the blame on himself for letting the uncertainty about Ydrus and Keller knock him off his game. Now they were back to their comfortable familiarity. It had been so easy to act like a playboy and she'd played her part brilliantly. Their kiss gave the street crowd something to admire.

At the loft Neal changed into jeans, a sweater and running shoes. He'd told Peter he was going to use the afternoon to rest, and if he applied warped logic, he hadn't lied. By the end of the afternoon, he expected to be in a calmer state, which was the equivalent of being rested, right?

He ran through Riverside Park up to Columbia. This was his afternoon to tie up loose ends. First stop was his advisor's office, where he dropped off his paper on Rembrandt—the final piece of documentation needed for his PhD application.

Next stop was his studio at Watson Hall. As he walked through the quad, Keller rose from a bench and fell in step with him. "Sweet campus," he remarked. "I can see why you wanted to be a student. Convenient places to hang out. Friendly student body. Easy research opportunities. I plan to spend a lot more time here."

"Now you're catching on." Neal was careful not to reveal a hint of the dismay Keller's words filled him with. A little over a year ago when Neal had been at Concordia Seminary in St. Louis, he'd felt much the same way. Back then he was still thinking as a con artist. He'd gone there to pass himself off as a student of theology and infiltrate a church choir. He remembered well his appreciation of the advantages a college campus offered, not once stopping to think he might legitimately belong on campus. Keller was reminding him of his earlier self and how similar they were. "It makes a great base of operations. One of my professors was talking about a Max Ernst exhibit being planned for the Guggenheim in the spring. Start making your shopping list."

Keller nodded with satisfaction. "I'd about given up on you after your churlishness a couple of years ago, but I gotta admit, you played your cards right. Infiltrating the FBI, making the New York art scene your bank, using women as your playthings—I taught you well." He glanced over at him. "That was a sweet filly you had at lunch."

"You looking for handouts?'' Neal snorted disdainfully. "Find your own stable."

"Simultaneously dating two women who are friends with each other?" He chuckled. "That's ballsy enough for even me to admire."

Neal grinned. "I thought you'd appreciate it. The blond knows me as Neal. I introduced myself as Gary to the redhead. She discovered later on who I really was, but by then she found me too irresistible to care. I'm gonna need to work up more aliases for all the campus chicks who are vying for me." He slanted a glance at Keller. "More than enough for you to have some fun too."

When they passed the student center, Neal stopped to sit on a bench outside the front entrance and Keller joined him. "You got your buyers lined up?"

"They're ready. You arranged the transport?"

Neal nodded. "A truck will be ready in the loading bay. How about the plane?"

"Teterboro Airport. Did you obtain the guards' schedule?"

"Yeah. We have a fifteen minute window starting at 11:20 p.m. We'll have to move fast."

"How will we know your contact did his work and the security's been disabled?"

"I have a couple of test meters we can use. There are several security sensors on each case so we'll both need to work on them." He eyed Keller skeptically. "Think you can manage it?"

"Very funny. I'm the one who taught you."

"Just checking you hadn't lost your touch, old man."

"Watch it, kid. I'll have my sensors completed before you're halfway done. What if that program you keep boasting about doesn't work and the security system is still live?"

Neal shrugged. "We go back to the storeroom and wait till morning. We can make our escape once the museum reopens. Worst case scenario, I have a bolt hole we can use."

Keller nodded. "Any problem getting my gun in?"

"Not if you pass it to me. The Met conducts random metal checks, but not of art students. I'll return it to you once we're in the storeroom."

"The advantages of being a student," Keller said, smirking. "I love it. You think I could pass myself off an art student?"

"Why not? Maybe archaeology. I could see that." He stood up. "We meet at seven thirty in the Great Hall at the museum. Now leave me alone. This is my painting time."

Keller cocked his head, looking amused. "Bossing me around, are you?"

"Get used to it. I'm calling the shots now." Neal walked off, checking for Keller's reflection in the plate glass wall of the student center. Keller was heading east away from Neal's studio in the direction of Amsterdam Avenue. Neal caught a glimpse of his own reflection. Not so very different. Two cons taking advantage of the university. He tore his eyes off the reflection and continued on to his studio. Ice. That was what he needed. Freeze his revulsion in ice.

His mother Meredith used that technique. Last summer Neal had overheard her being described as someone who'd encased herself in ice to prevent feeling anything. She'd shut herself off from any emotional attachments and changed her identity. He could do the same.

 _Step right up, Meredith. Take your place beside Keller. For the next thirty-six hours, you two will be my role models._

* * *

 ** _Notes_** _: In Penna Nomen's Caffrey Aloha, Neal portrayed a hardened, cynical criminal in order to con Adrian Tulane. That was the inspiration for my portrayal of him with Keller. In my blog post last week, I'd talked about the psychological costumes Neal wears during a con. Getting into the mindset to mimic the personality of Keller is doing a number on him which comes to a head next week in Chapter 15: How You Like Me Now?_

 _Neal compares Keller's feelings to how he felt in St. Louis when he visited a seminary. That was before Neal started working at the FBI. Penna described it in Chapter 1 of Choirboy Caffrey. In The Mirror, Keller's reaction to Columbia is a distorted version of Neal's assessment. At the end of the chapter, Neal channels the attitude of his mother when she met with Neal's aunt Noelle. That scene is in the final chapter of Caffrey Disclosure._

 _Many thanks are due to Penna for this chapter: not only for providing such great inspiration in her works but also for excellent soundboard and muse services for Neal, Henry, and Sara in this chapter. Henry always behaves better when Penna is around!_

 _Henry insisted on making an appearance in my new blog post, called "When an Original Character Talks Back." For her new post, Penna wrote about "Turning Daydreams into the Caffrey Conversation Stories." Many of her daydreams wound up being included in Caffrey Conversation, but one lovely daydream never did. I'm thrilled that she included in her post for you to enjoy._

 ** _Blog_** _: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation_ _  
_ ** _Chapter Visuals and Music_** _: The Mirror board on the Caffrey Conversation Pinterest websit_ _e_


	15. How You Like Me Now

**Chapter 15: How You Like Me Now**

 **The Bunker at the Aloha Emporium. February 28, 2005. Monday afternoon.**

"Did you get the gun?" Neal asked.

Mozzie nodded. He spun his chair around from the worktable to his desk and pulled out a small leather box from a drawer. "I still have my reservations. The blowfish toxin was much more elegant."

Neal opened the box and took out the antique Remington pocket pistol. Mozzie had found the perfect weapon. Pearl handle, nickel plating—the sides were engraved with a floral scroll. _Say it with flowers_ , he thought, appreciating the irony. Neal weighed the pistol in his hand. Good feel.

"I had the Mole test it. It aims true," Mozzie said. "There are two boxes of ammo—the gray box contains blanks and the red box, live bullets—just as you requested."

Neal traced the barrel with his finger. "Thanks. It's a beautiful piece of workmanship."

Mozzie sat down opposite him and folded his arms on the table. "You're determined to go through with it?"

When Keller accosted him on campus earlier in the afternoon, any residual doubt Neal might have had was erased. "Keller's a menace. I have to stop him now before he hurts more people."

Mozzie tapped the ammo boxes. "Does the suit know what you're planning?"

"He knows the vision." Neal hadn't decided yet on how he'd handle that sensitive subject. The toxin had been enough of a debacle. He sidetracked Mozzie onto a different direction by telling him about Henry's discovery.

"So Keller visited Adler . . ." Mozzie sat back, musing over the implications.

"Not necessarily," Neal pointed out. "He could have gone to Argentina on an unrelated matter."

"Not likely, but possible," he acknowledged. "Still, invincibility lies in the defense of all eventualities."

"Sun Tzu?"

Nodding, Mozzie stood up and retrieved the chessboard from the bookcase. He set it on the table, and began pulling out the chess pieces from the box. "Let's review what we're dealing with. Adler's the black king. Kate, if she's still alive, is the black queen. Fowler's his rook. Who's Keller?"

"The knight." He reached into the box and placed a white knight on the chessboard. "That's me. Peter's the king."

"I'm the bishop," Mozzie said. "I've always wanted to be a bishop."

"And for the white queen, we have four to protect—Fiona, Angela, June, and El. Do you have extra queens?"

"Use the pawns for now. I'll get more later. So what are the possible moves for the black knight? How's the king using him?

Neal studied the chessboard. "Keller's used the same rendezvous spot as Adler—the bar at Grand Central. That's the only definite link. If he's working for Adler, it may be because Adler wants the Egyptian treasure."

"Or Adler may think that Keller can convince you to work with him again. He hopes to manipulate you by having Keller act as his agent."

Neal nodded, picking up the white rook. "Then there's the Braque painting. How does that fit into the game?" He placed the rook on the board. "Chantal brought it up. Gordon Taylor asked about it. Keller believes I have it. Fowler may be in Paris. Is Adler the buyer?" Neal looked at the board, shaking his head, and with a sudden impetuous gesture, swept the metal pieces onto the floor.

"Was that necessary?" Mozzie complained, picking up the chess pieces and inspecting them. "Remind me to use plastic next time."

"Sorry," Neal said ruefully, shaking his hand. Those pieces were unexpectedly heavy. "It was a stupid move." He drew a deep breath to calm his nerves. "I don't like games where I have to defend four queens."

"It doesn't seem sporting, does it?" Mozzie went over to his kitchenette and opened the fridge for a bottle of wine. He poured out a glass and passed it to Neal. "Have a glass of Ohelo Sunset. Have you been drinking the recommended dosage? Perhaps you should talk to the suit, after all."

Neal took a sip. "He'll just try to talk me out of it."

"And is that such a bad thing?"

Neal shook his head emphatically. "This has to end. Keller poses a threat to everyone I know as long as he's around. Henry's making plans to move to New York. Will he wind up on Keller's hit list too? Keller's made me his pawn and he has the chessboard loaded with potential targets to force me to do his bidding. If I don't take him out now, he'll just dig his claws into me deeper and deeper." Neal used both hands to rake through his hair.

"You're not in this alone, you know." Mozzie stood up and went over to his bookcase where he picked up a small figure and placed it on the table.

Neal stared at it. "A dashboard hula doll? Am I supposed to know what that means?"

Mozzie nudged her with his finger to make her jiggle. "This is Lolana. I met her at the Honolulu airport when I flew home in January. Lolana was pining for adventure in her life and asked me to take her along. She's become my traveling companion and constant reminder that a master con artist needs to keep himself ready to move at a moment's notice. Should I start researching options?"

If Keller escaped or the plan didn't work, Mozzie understood there was only one option. Neal Caffrey would have to disappear. If he weren't around, Keller would have no reason to threaten the others.

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

When Neal returned to his loft after his evening seminar, he switched to running shoes for a late night run in Riverside Park. He appreciated the solitude and the relative quiet of running at night. There was less traffic noise. The full moon was rising over the skyscrapers to the east. Its reflection shimmered on the Hudson River. As he ran, he sketched out ideas for a painting. The moon, the river, the skyline as a backdrop …

His cell phone rang when he'd been running about fifteen minutes. It was Henry. "You sound out of breath. You running?"

"Yeah." Neal slowed to a fast walk. "You're supposed to be asleep."

"Slept on the plane. I must still be on Eastern time. Decided to take a walk."

"Where are you?"

"Walking along the Seine. I can see Notre-Dame up ahead. It's a beautiful night. The full moon is low in the west. It will be daylight soon."

"Something's wrong with this picture. You're the one in Paris."

"You'll be back. Win-Win's expanding in Europe. You'll be working for Interpol. Fiona may be here. Lot of good stuff on the horizon, kiddo." Henry paused for a moment, waiting for Neal to respond. When he didn't, he added, "Full moon tonight. You up for a little howling?"

Neal smiled. "You're not going to be a werewolf in Paris, are you?"

He gave a low chuckle. "Nah, I'll settle for the regular kind."

"I wouldn't mind a howl or two." Neal stopped walking and gazed over the river. "Keller was on campus today. We finalized plans."

"That guy knows how to get in your face, doesn't he?"

"Yeah," Neal admitted. No point in denying it.

"You're going to be with him for hours tomorrow. How are you preparing?"

Neal resumed walking. "Channeling Meredith."

"Explain."

"Freeze my emotions. Coat myself in an armor of ice."

Henry didn't comment on his statement. He probably wasn't thrilled with what he heard, but he understood it made the best sense. "Assume Keller's working with Adler. What angle are they working?"

Neal explained their theory that Adler was Keller's buyer for the artifacts. "That doesn't change the op at all. We'll go ahead, arrest Keller, and hope to make him talk under questioning."

"Call me when the op's concluded. I don't care what time it is. If that drug's still doing a number on you, have Peter hold the phone up and give me a grunt. I won't be in Paris very long. When I get back you better be thawed out from your ice maneuver. I expect to have your help on the move."

Neal looked over at the river. "You got it. See you on the other side."

 **June's mansion. March 1, 2005. Tuesday morning.**

The sun was streaming through the patio doors when Neal awoke. He rubbed his eyes and focused on the clock. Nine o'clock? He hadn't meant to sleep that late.

Last night when he returned from his run, he worked on a paper for his contemporary art class, finishing it up around four o'clock. He'd welcomed having something to do. Any excuse not to sleep. The night Henry stayed with him was the first night in a long time he hadn't had any nightmares, and he figured it wouldn't last.

Sure enough, last night the nightmares returned. Wearily, Neal pushed his hair back with his hands as he reviewed the still fresh memory. He and Keller were back at Cannes at the Carlton hotel, only Fiona was in the room rather than the princess. He was hiding on the balcony. Keller forced his way into the room, shot Fiona, then walked out on the balcony for Neal. Aiming his gun at Neal's heart, he shot him. Neal fell off the balcony. He could still remember with crystal clarity the sensation of looking up at the night sky as he plummeted toward the ground, falling, falling, and then . . . falling out of bed. Good thing Henry wasn't there for that.

Now he felt groggy and more than a little upset with himself for not keeping a better grip on reality. He made himself a large pot of coffee and took a mug with him while he showered and dressed. He wasn't hungry but had a couple of slices of toast for breakfast. Peter called while he was eating. This had become his standard practice on days Neal wasn't in the office. He seemed to have a crazy notion that Neal was going to self-destruct.

The news from the office wasn't good. Jones had reported that the offer to sell _St. George and the Dragon_ was retracted. The fence he was dealing with in London said that he'd been misinformed and there was no Raphael for sale. "The question I have is why," Peter said. "Did someone tip him off?"

"That seems the most likely to me. That identity we provided Jones was airtight. It's conceivable that Hagen had another job to do or for some other reason called it off, but not very likely."

"We were worrying about a mole at Sterling-Bosch but there could also be one in the FBI. Only Bureau personnel knew about our plans."

"The presence of an FBI mole could explain why Ydrus has been able to escape detection so well. Someone could be working to mask any trace of their activities."

"I'm going to speak with Hughes about it. We need to enact tighter controls over who has access to our operations."

They continued to talk for several minutes. Neal was glad to be able to focus on something else besides tonight. The only item on his schedule this morning was to prepare the designated storeroom at the Met. Agents had delivered the equipment the previous afternoon, but he wanted to verify nothing was missing. No surprises.

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

When Neal returned from the Met, Diana and Tricia had already arrived for the weekly meeting of the Arkham Round Table. June had insisted on providing lunch and had her chef prepare soup and sandwiches. El wasn't able to make it but Mozzie had shown up early to help June prepare. Neal was amused to see how much his friend enjoyed the role of co-host for the event.

Mozzie seemed determined to be the life of the party. During lunch he entertained them with tales of Yellowface, the Masked Avenger and his future plans for the bee crime fighter. Neal suspected him of using Yellowface to help Neal relax, and he welcomed it.

When the topic of conversation switched to the mysterious code employed by Azathoth, Mozzie also took center stage. "I'm convinced Azathoth is using a variant of the Grand Chiffre," he said. "If your French is rusty, you may call it the Great Cipher. Given his background, Azathoth would undoubtedly appreciate Rossignol." He sat back smugly as if they would immediately say, "Of course, brilliant!" but instead their looks of blank confusion informed him further clarification was in order.

"The Grand Chiffre was invented by Antoine Rossignol in the seventeenth century." He paused to nod to Tricia. "You of course approve of Azathoth's choice." Turning to the others, he added, "Rossignol is French for nightingale. You might say Azathoth is singing like a nightingale."

Diana rolled her eyes impatiently. "Are you going anywhere with this? Tell me you've cracked the code."

"Not yet. It may take days or weeks. Genius can't be rushed."

"How do you suggest we respond in the meantime? I can't hold off for weeks."

"What if we also reply in code?" Tricia suggested. "Mozzie, could you create a code that would be similar in difficulty to what Azathoth uses?"

"Naturally," he said automatically and then backtracked. "It will take planning, but we could start with something fairly short and proceed from there. A polyalphabetic cipher would be best. What would you like the message to be?"

"Something vague that encourages him to reply," Neal suggested. "It should be short to increase the complexity of solving it."

Mozzie snapped his fingers. "I know! 'We're all golden sunflowers inside.' That will make him stop and think."

Tricia's eyes lit up. "Ginsberg? Oh, that's perfect!"

"A connoisseur of Ginsberg?" Mozzie nodded approvingly. "I look forward to future poetry discussions with you."

"I have a book of Ginsberg's complete works we could use for reference," June offered.

"Excellent," he said, rubbing his hands. "By combining a renaissance cipher with Ginsberg I should be able to establish a code that will keep him perplexed for months."

At first, Neal had participated in the discussion, but as the time wore on, he became preoccupied with the upcoming heist. His distraction didn't go unnoticed. Diana raised a brow and he nodded in response. He'd mentioned to June before lunch that he and Diana would need to meet privately, and she'd suggested they use her study.

The oak-paneled study was one of Neal's favorite rooms in the mansion. June called it her office, but it was more of a retreat. Twin Chesterfield loveseats in midnight blue velvet, stuffed with extra cushions and throws, faced each other in front of the gas fireplace which was always kept lit on cool days. The desk was by the window and overlooked the small back garden. Thick Persian rugs warmed the wood floors.

Neal chose one of the loveseats and Diana sat down beside him. She reached into her bag for a small pill container and handed it to him. There was only one pill inside. "I assume you're still determined to go through with this?"

"I am."

"You'll need to sign this release," she warned, "and Christie told me to remind you that you've agreed to stay in the hospital until the effect wears off."

Neal nodded agreement. "How quickly does it act?"

"You'll begin to feel symptoms within two minutes and within five you'll experience its full effect. Your face will turn deathly white. Moving your arms and legs will become next to impossible, and you'll have a killer migraine. Fun times."

Neal chuckled. "Thanks, Diana." He placed the container in his jacket pocket and signed the release form, handing it back to her.

She frowned slightly. "Look, I've been practicing my reaction. My Oscar-winning performance is going to sell it. And Jones knows if he doesn't perform up to snuff, he'll face my wrath. You don't have to go to any extraordinary measures. We'll make it work."

"I know you will. The setting will also help sell it. In Ancient Egypt they used to pay mourners to wail and sob in the procession when the Pharaoh's mummy was carried to his tomb. Lamentation songs were performed. I'm looking forward to your rendition."

"Don't expect Aretha Franklin, but you'll have your own entourage, I promise you. You have no cause for concern. We'll convince him."

Neal thanked her and rose to leave. He was jumping out of his skin. Sitting quietly to chat was out of the question.

Diana accompanied him to the foot of the stairs. "You realize, don't you, that I'm not busting my butt writing these stories to have my hero go off and do something stupid like letting himself be shot?" She put a hand on his arm to stop him as he turned to mount the stairs. "You, be careful, and don't be selfish. Neal Carter's depending on you."

Neal gave her a confident smile. "I got the message. Bring your hero home safe and in one piece."

She nodded. "That's right or there'll be hell to pay."

Neal jogged upstairs, taking the stairs two at a time. He should sleep but he had far too much energy. The adrenaline had already kicked in. Somehow he needed to slow it down before he burned out. He opted to go for a run but decided to first lay out his clothes for the evening on the bed. The shirt was one Mozzie had altered to better conceal the blood bag.

Neal walked over to the wall safe by the bed, got out the gun, and stood in front of the full-length mirror. That was Keller in the mirror, not him. He gripped the pistol and aimed it straight at Keller's heart, holding the position for a couple of minutes to get the right feel, the right look. The gun he'd . . . Wait. What was he missing? His thoughts weren't coalescing. _Gotta slow down. Am I thinking straight?_

Neal placed the pistol on the dining table and retrieved the boxes of bullets from the safe. Sitting down at the table, he fingered the pistol for a long moment.

He pulled out his cell phone from his pocket. Why had he done that? It wasn't ringing. He stared at it for a moment, willing it to ring, but nothing happened. Taking a deep breath, he dialed Peter. Stupid to call him. He'd probably be in a meeting.

But he wasn't. When he answered, Neal's brain froze up on him for a moment and he fumbled for something to say, finally asking how everything was going. Dumb question.

He sat and listened as Peter talked about the preparations being made for the night. The failed sting continued to be a topic of conversation among the team. Now Peter was reviewing how NYPD would be used for backup and support personnel. Neal tuned him out for a while, his eyes returning unbidden to the gun, the bullets . . .

"You still there, Neal?"

"Yeah, I'm here."

"Do you recall I asked you once to tell me the gotchas for this op?"

"I remember."

"Do you have anything to add?"

Neal cleared his throat. "Double-cross. I suspect Keller's got something up his sleeve. Something I don't know anything about."

"Do you want to call it off?"

"No, we can't. We both know that."

"Any other gotchas?"

Neal didn't reply. What should he say?

"What's the real reason for this call? What are you trying to tell me?"

Neal got up and walked over to the French doors. He stood and watched the wind toss around the potted evergreens June had placed outside. "I'm taking a gun."

Peter didn't respond right away. Good. He was thinking before he started slamming him. "Care to explain why?" he asked in a strangled voice.

"To help sell the con. I'll pull out my gun and get him to think I'm trying to kill him. We struggle and he shoots me with it." Neal hesitated for a moment before adding, "The gun's loaded with blanks."

"This scenario only occurs if you succeed in replacing the bullets in Keller's gun with blanks, right? You better not be planning a Butch Sundance moment where you and Keller go down in a hail of bullets."

Neal forced out a chuckle. "No, nothing like that. I may be Sundance, but Keller's no Butch Cassidy. You are, and I know you'll make this work."

"Remember that, Sundance. You and I are a team, and there's no way this is going to end badly." Peter paused for a moment. "You must know that I'm not thrilled with you taking a gun. Won't that increase the odds of Keller shooting you?"

"That's what I want, Butch, and you'll be there to save me."

"It'd be a helluva lot easier if you didn't drive me crazy first. Something to bear in mind for next time."

Neal smiled. "Next time. Right."

"'Cause I'm not ready to ride off into the sunset, and you better not be either."

 **Metropolitan Museum of Art. March 1, 2005. Tuesday evening.**

The crowd at the museum was a large one. Only the Egyptian galleries were open during the extended evening hours the Met had scheduled for the exhibition. That meant more visitors packed into the limited space—ideal conditions for a heist.

Neal strolled through the Great Hall and paused at the display of upcoming exhibitions. His shirt made his skin itch. It was going to be ruined so Mozzie had selected a cheap heavy fabric. It hid the blood bag well but it was not his style. Richard had done a great job with the bullet wound. It felt a little creepy walking around with a hole in his chest. The gun was a hard presence at the small of his back.

He spotted Keller walking through the front doors. Neal glanced at his watch. Seven thirty, right on time. No sign of any of the White Collar team members. Good. They were already in place. Neal slipped into character and walked up to greet Keller. No more nerves. This had been his objective for the past two weeks. It was a relief to finally start. For the next four hours or however long it took, he and Keller were going to be pals . . . right up to the moment they tried to kill each other.

Keller was wearing a raincoat. He slipped Neal his gun to place in his sketch pad case. After passing through the admissions area, they ambled through a couple of the Middle Kingdom galleries. Neal paused to sit on a bench before a statue of Senwosret III to make a sketch.

"Always the artist," Keller scoffed, rolling his eyes.

Neal shrugged and took particular pleasure in replacing Keller's bullets with blanks while Keller was off admiring an especially fine sphinx.

When they entered the storeroom, they donned janitor coveralls over their clothes. Neal's was customized with slits in the pockets to enable him to reach his special equipment.

"Here's your test meter," Neal said in a low voice, handing him the small device.

Keller inspected it and nodded his satisfaction. "Too bad we don't have a third person. As long as we're here I wouldn't mind adding a few extra pieces to the haul."

"I know what you mean. I have my eyes on a Degas." He eyed the janitor cart speculatively. "I might be able to squeeze it in."

"Next time. Better to have buyers in place first anyway." Keller checked out the carts then retreated to a corner of the room, where he sat down on the floor and closed his eyes.

At 11:00, Neal nudged him awake. At precisely 11:20 they left the storeroom and wheeled their carts into the exhibition area. The museum had done a great job. The galleries were quiet with no sign of a guard.

Neal gestured to Keller to observe his procedure. They were keeping talk to a minimum to lessen the chance of discovery. Neal demonstrated how to use the meter on the display case containing the mirror and then removed the screws securing the case. When he motioned for Keller to verify the sensors on the case containing the amulets, Keller balked.

Shaking his head vehemently, he whispered, "First we switch meters. Yours is already tested. You can use mine."

Neal glared at him. "You're wasting time." They traded meters and Neal began work on the case containing the golden shrine while keeping Keller in view. He knew Peter and the others were intently monitoring their actions through their surveillance cameras. They'd agreed to let Keller unscrew two of the locks on the case before triggering the sirens.

One lock open. Two and . . . yes, there were the sirens. Never had the ear-piercing shrieks sounded so satisfying.

"Shit! What did you do?" Neal grabbed Keller's shoulder and spun him around. "Didn't you check the lock?"

Keller stared wild-eyed at him. "The lock wasn't live—I swear!"

"Guess again. We gotta get out of here. The bolt hole's in the Hall of Dendur. Quick!"

Dropping their gear, they raced out of the gallery and down the corridor to the temple.

"What the hell went wrong?" he yelled over the blare of the sirens.

"It wasn't me! That program didn't do its job."

"I'll save your ass this time, but this is the last job I do with you. We're done."

Faint footsteps could be heard running in the corridor behind them. Neal knew they were under constant surveillance to coordinate the timing. Keller was turning his head to check for guards. His right hand was moving to his coveralls.

Neal shoved him hard toward the temple entrance to the temple gallery. "No time for that. We make a clean break. There's a maintenance tunnel accessed from the temple. They'll never know."

They ran along the reflection pool and into the temple. Neal darted to the middle section of the temple interior and stooped down over a floor tile. The footsteps grew louder.

"You open the tunnel," Keller yelled. "I'll hold 'em off." He moved behind a pillar and pulled out his gun.

"No guns!" Neal shouted back. "You swore. I'll have the entrance open in a few seconds and we'll be on our way."

"Plan's changed. Get to work on that goddamned tunnel or you'll be next."

Neal stood up, pulled out his pistol, and aimed it straight at Keller. "Put the gun down. You're not killing anyone."

Keller stared at him with disbelief. "You hate guns. Put that peashooter away. Don't make me shoot you."

Neal's hand was shaking with rage as he held the gun. "You screwed up the heist. Now you're going to take them down and expose me. You're ruining everything I've worked to build."

Keller aimed his own gun at Neal's chest as he walked slowly toward him. Speaking softly, he said, "Give me the gun, Caff. I'll forget it. We can still escape." Peter, Diana, Jones, and Travis had now appeared at the gallery entrance.

"No!" Neal yelled. "Too late." He lunged for Keller's weapon before Keller could fire and knocked it away. Keller wrestled him for control of the pistol. Grunting, he clawed at Neal's hand while Neal tried to direct the pistol at Keller.

A shot rang out.

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

It was proceeding like clockwork. Neal's crazy scheme was working.

When Peter and his team rushed the Temple of Dendur, Neal and Keller were locked in a tight struggle in front of the reflecting pool. Motioning the others to fan out, Peter slowly approached the pair and ordered them to give themselves up. They ignored his directive. Peter spotted Keller's Glock on the ground but couldn't see the pistol.

A lone shot reverberated through the gallery. Keller stared with shock as Neal staggered back from him. A bright red stain was blossoming rapidly on the front of his coveralls. Neal's eyes looked enormous, his face chalk-white. He tried to mouth something then gazed horrified at his chest. Swaying at the edge of the pool for a long second, Neal collapsed into the pool. The stain of blood began rising to the surface of the water.

Travis and Jones had circled around from behind as the scene played out. Keller grabbed his gun off the ground and turned to aim it at Peter, but Travis and Jones swarmed him before he could shoot. Neal by this time had floated away from Keller down the side of pool as if he were making a feeble attempt to escape. Clever. It would be impossible for Keller to see any air bubbles. Peter and Diana rushed over to pull him out of the water. There was no sign of the breathing device. He must have already spit it out. They laid Neal on his back by the pool. Diana was yelling into her communicator for paramedics.

Peter had been prepared for the sight, but it was still tough to take. Christie's pill had lived up to its billing. The death-like pallor on Neal's face was grimly realistic. Neal was trying to say something but no sound was coming out. Diana was using her hands in an attempt to quench the flow of blood. Peter took off his jacket to use as a compress for the "wound."

Travis and Jones were in charge of Keller. They cuffed him and read him his rights, handling him as roughly as permitted under the code. Keller's face had gone almost as white as Neal's.

Even knowing the wound was fake, it was easy to display genuine emotion at the sight of Neal. Peter opened the front of his coveralls to reveal the chest wound. His entire shirt was coated in blood. As Travis and Jones led Keller away, the medics arrived with a gurney. Christie was accompanying them in a medic uniform. Peter waited till Keller was out of the gallery before leaning over Neal to murmur, "All right, Sundance, you can come back to life."

Gone was the glassy-eyed frozen stare that was so terrifying even though he knew it was fake. The grin that replaced it was too weak to be cocky, but still a welcome sight.

Peter brushed back his wet hair off his face. "You really do look like a drowned rat. Just so you know, next time I'm the one who gets to fake death, not you."

Christie assisted the medics in taking his vitals. "Feeling good, are we?"

Neal rolled his eyes, but didn't attempt to speak.

She placed a pressure pack on the site of his supposed wound. "I did warn you, you were going to wish you actually had died. Just lie back and enjoy the deluxe ride you're going to get out of the museum. We're going to fix you up with an IV and bandages as if it were the real thing on the slight chance Keller might see you." She turned to Peter. "The effect should start wearing off in about an hour."

"After we finish here, I'll stop off at the hospital." Peter patted Neal on the shoulder. "Behave yourself and don't give the nice doctor any grief."

Martine Giron accompanied by Met security guards walked into the gallery from a back door as Neal was being wheeled out on the gurney. She had been in the security office throughout the operation. Approaching Peter, she said, "You don't know how happy I am to have this operation concluded."

"You and me both," Peter assured her. "Only one gunshot was fired, and it was a blank." He escorted her around to inspect the condition of the gallery. In the interest of maintaining good relations with the Met, Peter stayed to personally supervise the support team in charge of mopping up. The main task was equipment removal. The water in the reflecting pool would be replaced by the Met maintenance crew. They'd used a vegetable dye which would not stain the pool tiles.

Peter's earpiece crackled with the sound of Agent Badillo's voice, reporting from the surveillance van. "Something's wrong. I was closing down my monitoring equipment and noticed Neal's GPS isn't where it should be. Dr. Vintner said they were going to Bellevue, but that's south of here and Neal's ambulance is speeding straight north. The ambulance isn't responding to my calls. Diana's gone to check out the situation where it'd been parked."

 _What the hell?_

Peter muttered a quick excuse to Giron and sprinted down the corridor for the service entrance. Badillo continued to feed him reports through his earpiece. Still no contact with the ambulance.

Diana's voice broke through. "Gunmen were waiting for the ambulance. Seized it and Neal. NYPD's calling up choppers."

 _Had Adler finally succeeded?_

* * *

 ** _Notes_** _: Penna Nomen checked our stats a few days ago and realized we'd hit a milestone. When I posted last week's chapter, the total word count for the Caffrey Conversation AU passed one million. Penna posted the first chapter of Caffrey Conversation on October 12, 2013. When she wrote that first story, she didn't intend to create an AU. Later, spurred on by the many comments from readers who wanted to read about a version of White Collar where Neal was granted immunity before being sent to prison, she revised the final chapter and with that gave birth to the series._

 _We'd both like to express our thanks to all of you who have joined us for the adventures. Many of you have read all the stories and inspired us with your comments. Both of us plan to continue to write stories for the AU as we aim for the next milestone. I'll have details about upcoming stories next week in Chapter 16: You Drive Me Crazy. I bet everyone knows who the "you" refers to._

 _This week's chapter title also refers to a song. "How You Like Me Now" was featured in the canon episode "Point Blank" when Neal went rogue in a museum. Gonzalo Celis Palma made a great White Collar fanvid of the song which I've pinned to The Mirror Pinterest board._

 _Many thanks to Penna, plot and heist schemer extraordinaire, for her assistance with this chapter. It's fitting that during a week when The Mirror features one of the main villains of the series, she wrote about Robert Winslow in her latest post for our blog. The title is "Robert Winslow: The Villain Who Snuck up on Me." My post was inspired by Lolana and is called "Adventures in Collaborating: A Honey of an Idea."_

 ** _Blog_** _: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation_ _  
_ ** _Chapter Visuals and Music_** _: The Mirror board on the Caffrey Conversation Pinterest website_


	16. You Drive Me Crazy

**Chapter 16: You Drive Me Crazy**

 **Metropolitan Museum of Art. March 1, 2005. Tuesday evening.**

He knew it was too good to be true.

As he ran to the service entrance, Peter blasted himself for not having escorted the gurney to the ambulance. His pounding footsteps echoed loudly on the stone floor, reinforcing the drumbeat in his head. Henry had called, warning him that Keller had been in Argentina. This had all been a setup. Neal said he was worried about a double-cross. Adler. It had to be Adler. Peter was the one who said all roads curved back to Adler. Why hadn't he stuck to Neal like glue? Was he already on his way to Argentina?

When Peter exited the museum, he saw two squad cars already at the entrance with an ambulance rolling to a halt beside them. Christie was crouched beside one of the medics. The other medic was talking to an NYPD detective.

Diana darted forward to greet him. "I just spoke with Christie. She said they wheeled Neal up to the ambulance, not suspecting anything was wrong. When they opened the back door, two armed gunmen were waiting for them with semi-automatics. They ordered the medics to wheel Neal inside and then forced the medics and Christie into the van parked alongside. One of the medics resisted their orders and was shot. The rest were tied up—an NYPD detective discovered them."

Peter quickly surveyed the scene. "The gunmen must have been hiding in that van when the ambulance initially pulled up. Was Christie injured?"

Diana shook her head. "No, she knew better than to resist. NYPD's in pursuit and choppers should be in the air any moment now. Badillo is feeding them the GPS coordinates from Neal's watch. They can't get far."

"You're riding with me." Peter's car was parked near the service entrance and within minutes they'd joined in the chase. The ambulance had a substantial lead. Even at the breakneck speed Peter was driving, he wasn't going to be able to catch up.

Diana called out updates every few seconds. "A chopper is tailing it . . . The ambulance is on Harlem River Drive and 130th Street." She glanced over at Peter. "You think this was Adler's work, don't you?"

Peter nodded. "We know he tried to recruit Neal last spring. That frame attempt by Fowler was most likely an attempt to get him to quit the FBI and join them. Keller was in Argentina. He may have made a bargain to not only steal the Egyptian artifacts, but deliver Neal as well."

"What about Azathoth?" She clutched the arm rest as Peter swerved sharply onto the expressway.

"Not his pattern." He swore as he slammed on the brakes to avoid a truck veering into his lane.

"But it's possible," she persisted.

Diana was right. Had the movie scam been a warning? That short story had been about a church. Was Neal being taken to a church? There were thousands of churches in Manhattan.

"They got 'em!" Diana yelled triumphantly. "Take the exit at 155th Street."

When Peter screeched to a halt on a side street off the expressway, the ambulance was already surrounded by several squad cars and an additional ambulance. Reinforcements were pouring in, all under the glare of chopper searchlights. Peter ran over to the hijacked ambulance while Diana checked in with the police.

Neal was still lying strapped to the gurney. His eyes were open but unfocused. His face had started to regain a little color.

"How is he?" Peter demanded of the medic who was working on him.

"Vitals are good," she reported. "Looks like he was given a sedative. We've already been in contact with Dr. Vintner. She explained about the medication in his system."

Neal was blinking his eyes at Peter, squinting as if he were trying to focus. "That you, Butch?" His voice was rough and slurred, but he managed a weak smile.

Peter bent down low so Neal could see him more easily and grasped his forearm. "You better believe it, Sundance. What do you think you were doing, riding off without me?"

He closed his eyes. "Knew you'd bring the posse," he mumbled, his voice trailing off.

"He's going to be all right, sir," the medic said. "We need you to step aside so we can get him into the ambulance."

"I'm riding with you, and that's not up for discussion."

She shot him a quick glance. "Understood, sir."

While they wheeled Neal onto the waiting ambulance, Diana pulled him aside. "I'll drive your car back to the Bureau, boss."

Peter nodded his thanks and handed her the keys.

"One of the kidnappers—the driver—was shot," she said. "The other is uninjured and is being read his rights. He doesn't appear to speak English."

"Spanish?"

Diana shook her head doubtfully. "I couldn't identify it, but it sounded more like a Slavic language to me."

 **Federal Building. March 2, 2005. Wednesday afternoon.**

"At this rate, I'm going to have to call on Neal's grandfather, the ambassador," Tricia admitted as she sat down in Peter's office. "Adler I was prepared for, but an international incident? That was not on the list of possible outcomes we'd considered. Jones and I've just spent the past hour talking with the State Department."

It was midday by the time Peter arrived at the office. He'd stayed with Neal in the hospital until he was released in the early morning and then driven him home. Neal had gone immediately to bed with June promising to keep a careful watch on him. Afterward Peter headed for Brooklyn with the intention of catching a little rest. Jones was well equipped to lead operations in his absence. Peter was able to get in a couple of hours of sleep before the pace of fast-breaking developments made him abandon any further efforts as a lost cause.

"How's Neal?" Tricia asked.

"Exhausted but otherwise okay. He's resting at home. The gunmen had injected him with a mild sedative but he didn't suffer any ill effects from it except additional drowsiness. Perhaps I should thank them. Sleep is what he needs more than anything else. I plan to visit him after work. So where do we stand?"

"Since I talked with you last, we've been able to identify the two kidnappers through their fingerprints. They're Russian nationals—work for Rosgor, the Russian mining company."

"Rosgor?" Why did that company sound familiar? Peter sat back to consider. "That's the company Yuri Bolotnov works for, isn't it?" Bolotnov was the man who'd commissioned the theft of Marie Antoinette's diamond earrings in the fall. Could he have been Keller's buyer?

She nodded. "Bolotnov apparently is not only interested in the French royal jewels but also treasures of the Egyptian pharaohs. Keller insists Bolotnov commissioned him to steal the artifacts. Keller was wearing a communicator-watch similar to Neal's, and these two goons were listening in. The original plan was that they were there to assist with the transport of the treasure and also verify that Bolotnov wouldn't lose out on his treasure like last time."

"Neal had told Keller they'd wheel the custodian carts with the artifacts to the service entrance, and Keller was to drive the van to Teterboro Airport."

"What Keller didn't tell Neal was that Neal was supposed to go along with the treasure. Once the artifacts were safely stowed in the van, the gunmen were under orders to seize Neal and take him to Moscow. Keller was planning to go with them."

Peter felt his jaw drop. "Take Neal to Moscow?"

"That's right. According to Keller, Bolotnov was obsessed with the idea of having Neal work for the Russian mafia in Europe. This was their method of conducting a job recruitment." When Peter rolled his eyes, Tricia added, "I know. I had the same reaction, but we have to recognize that Neal's skills make him a very desired commodity in certain quarters. It's something we need to be more mindful of in the future."

"Still they must have overheard us talking about Neal's condition. We had Keller convinced Neal would likely not live. When they saw him being wheeled out on the gurney, surely they realized they couldn't take him on a plane?"

Tricia shrugged. "The gunmen panicked when they heard Neal had been shot. Their English is very limited and supposedly they didn't understand how badly he'd been injured. They were trying to reach Bolotnov for instructions but couldn't get through to him. They didn't dream we could track them so easily with Neal's watch and in the heat of the chase didn't have time to consider how they were going to be able to keep a mortally wounded man alive."

"We hoped that the con would convince Keller to make a plea bargain, but he's coughing up so much more than we expected. Was this simply because he was afraid he'd be charged with manslaughter?"

 **Neal's loft. Wednesday afternoon.**

"Good question," Neal said, sitting down at the dining table in his loft. "That's exactly what I want to know, too."

Peter had left work in the late afternoon to visit Neal. June greeted him at the door with the welcome news that Neal had spent most of the day sleeping. When Peter mounted the stairs to the loft, Neal was standing at the entrance, looking rested and alert—probably more so than Peter did at this point.

Neal's reaction was the same as his had been when Tricia brought him up to speed.

"Keller told us that last year he'd stolen a shipment of gold bullion from the Russia mafia. They caught him and gave him a choice: return the gold or be killed. He eventually made a bargain with Bolotnov to steal the mirror and you, too. But, not surprisingly, Bolotnov's level of trust in him was zero. Keller was wearing a watch. He was in effect their puppet. Now Keller's been singing like a canary on steroids."

"And so it's not my supposed injury but the Russians which are causing his new eagerness to be pals with us?"

"I'm sure the injury is a factor, but the Russians are applying the most leverage. They're denying his story. They want him extradited to Russia for the theft of the gold, and he's terrified of being sent to some gulag where he'll be tortured or killed. The Russian government is claiming Bolotnov never talked with Keller, and that the two kidnappers were acting on their own for reasons unknown. The Russian authorities claim they were victimized as much as we were."

Neal snorted. "And they expect us to believe that?"

"Apparently so. Jones and Tricia have been consulting with the State Department. They speculate one of the reasons that Russia is insisting on Keller is that they want to maintain good relations with Egypt. To have Russian nationals involved in the theft of priceless Egyptian relics is counterproductive to say the least."

"What did the gunmen say?"

"The one is still in the hospital and unable to be questioned. The other was at first uncooperative, demanding that he be allowed to speak with the consulate. A Russian representative came by this morning and spoke with both him and us. He's taking the tack that the guy is a hoodlum and can't be believed. The Russians are pressing for the gunmen and Keller to be returned to Russia for prosecution. After the representative left, Tricia questioned the gunman further. He's now singing another tune. Doesn't want to be extradited and agrees with Keller that Bolotnov ordered you to be kidnapped. According to him, Keller had convinced Bolotnov that he could control you and that once you were in Russia they'd break you down till you'd be willing to do whatever they wanted."

"Use KGB tactics on me?" Neal asked, his eyes widening.

Peter shrugged. "You may have done too good a selling job about your expertise at pulling heists and long cons. In any case, Keller's made a pact with the devil and now has no means to pay up."

"We learned from the past case that Bolotnov is in tight with the government."

Peter nodded. "The State Department feels the Russians will never allow Bolotnov to be extradited to the U.S. for trial. But we'll still have achieved a victory. He's been so tightly linked to crimes and to Keller that he'll be unable to travel overseas. Interpol will be keeping a close watch on all his movements."

Neal got up to get a glass of water. It reminded Peter he'd only been released from the hospital a few hours earlier. "Am I wearing you out?"

"Are you kidding? This is the best medicine I could possibly have."

"The State Department is vowing to hold the Russians' feet to the fire over this. Bolotnov is going to have to keep himself lily-pure to stay out of prison. I have some confidence that he won't be in a position to ever attempt anything similar again."

Neal brought back two glasses of water and handed one to Peter. "Has Keller mentioned anything about Adler?"

"No. Tricia asked him about the trip. He claimed he was there for pleasure, but she'll keep working on him. Keller's afraid that we'll agree to have him extradited to Russia for prosecution of the gold theft and that the Russian mafia will take revenge on him wherever he is. Tricia's pushing the case we have against him—including attempted manslaughter for shooting you—and Keller's already confessed to enough crimes to keep him locked away for fifty years. Tricia has been threatening him with Barksdale Supermax if he doesn't cooperate."

"Barksdale?" Neal chuckled. "Jones told me about that place. Keller wouldn't approve of the accommodations."

"Exactly," Peter said, suppressing a yawn, but not quickly enough to hide it from Neal.

"Why don't you head on home? You didn't get any sleep last night and you've hardly seen El the past few days."

"You'll be okay?"

"Yeah, go on. June's having her chef prepare me a tray. I'll probably crash after you leave. I can catch up on the case tomorrow."

Peter stood up. "I assume you called Henry."

Neal chuckled. "He told me what a hard time he gave you last night. Asked me to relay his apologies. He thought you'd probably heard more than enough from him already."

"You might say he was a little upset," Peter acknowledged. "But then so was I. Did you speak with Fiona?"

He nodded. "We talked in the morning then she brought lunch over."

"You're having no shortage of visitors. That's good." That was one of the many points Henry had stressed on the phone. Neal appeared fine and seemed more relaxed than he'd been for weeks, but Henry had warned he'd tend to retreat in a shell after the con. Acting like Keller for so long was going to require special handling to get over. "You mentioned coming in tomorrow. I think that's a good idea."

Neal's eyebrows shot up. "Really? I thought you might object."

"No, but you're on reduced hours for the rest of the week. Half-days, ten to two sound acceptable?"

"More than acceptable. Thanks, Peter."

"And I expect you to use that extra time to catch up on your sleep. I don't want any Grand Canyon yawns at the office."

"Like you're doing right now?"

Peter laughed in acknowledgment. "I'm going to work fewer hours myself. We both have comp time owed to us. I assume you're going to class tomorrow evening but how about Friday evening? Are you and Fiona going out?"

"No. She has to work that night, so we're getting together on Saturday."

"Then Friday night you'll come to our place for dinner."

"That sounds like an order."

"You might as well consider it as one from my commander-in-chief. El already has an idea in mind, and I know you don't want to disappoint her."

"Never," he said with a smile. "Tell El I'll be there."

Peter nodded with satisfaction. Mission accomplished.

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

After Peter left, Neal retrieved a couple of pillows from the bed to toss on the couch. He flopped out and crossed his arms behind his head, trying to sort out the events of the previous night. Keller's new openness could pose an unforeseen problem. Neal needed to devise a game plan to deal with it but he didn't like the obvious answer. When Mozzie showed up after dinner, Neal still hadn't arrived at a better solution.

"Keller and the Russians . . . I can't say I'm surprised." Mozzie walked into the kitchenette to retrieve the corkscrew. "Keller wrote his own ending years ago. It's catching up with him now." He poured out two glasses and gave one to Neal. "This has twice the recuperative power of pinecone ginger."

"I'm not sick," Neal protested.

"Perhaps not, but you've had an interesting couple of weeks. Call it preventative medicine. That's why I'm drinking it." He pulled up a chair and sat opposite Neal. "You always felt that Keller would double-cross you."

He nodded. "I suspected he'd try to cut me out, but I'd hoped his greed for future heists would hold it in abeyance."

"You had no way of knowing he was also being coerced."

Neal swirled the wine in the glass. Peter's words about Keller remaining in prison were reassuring . . . as long as he didn't escape. Nothing in what happened last night would have been a red flag that the long con Neal boasted of wasn't real. And the fact he hadn't faked his death could be played to his advantage now. Keller could think he'd staged a miraculous recovery . . . the honey wine cure.

Mozzie roused him from his musings. "So, Keller hasn't said anything about Adler?"

"Not yet."

"The pant suit is a skilled questioner. She may succeed. Keller could have seen Adler on an unrelated matter, but we've already mentioned the possibility that Adler asked him about the Braque painting. How are you going to handle it if Keller brings it up?"

"I've been working for the past two hours on that." Neal admitted, setting the glass down. The wine was making him queasy. "It depends on what he says." Not for the first time Neal wished that he'd never heard about the sudden interest in the painting. He'd made a personal pledge to never lie to Peter. Staying out of prison and keeping his word could be a challenge.

"Have you thought of any reason why Adler would want _Violin and Candlestick_?"

Neal shook his head. "The offer is for far more than the painting's worth. Perhaps he intends to use it to frame me. He may have some information or evidence that he could blackmail me with."

"You could make a preemptive strike. Tell the suit about the painting before Keller says anything."

"I can't ask him to go against his beliefs. My immunity was only granted for the crimes I'd confessed to. Peter would be obligated to report the theft to Interpol. You saw what it was like when the Bureau suspected me of having stolen Marie Antoinette's diamond earrings. They immediately leaped to the conclusion I'd done it. Interpol would be no different. They'd demand I'd be extradited to Germany for prosecution."

"I did warn you at the time the suit couldn't protect you."

"You were right. In the case of those earrings I was innocent. I'm not in this one," Neal stopped to take a breath, but the bitterness didn't go away. What happened last November still rankled. "Regrets don't count for much—maybe a reduced prison sentence if I'm lucky. In the aftermath of the earrings, I swore I'd never be sent to prison, and I intend to keep that vow. Besides, I don't even know if the painting's still where we left it. Klaus could have sold it. I'd be confessing to a crime without any reason to."

"You could say Klaus stole it, but that wouldn't help you."

"Telling the truth does me no favors here. The fact I know about the painting's theft and know where it's hidden—assuming it's still there—makes me as guilty as Klaus. This could all be moot in any case. We have no knowledge that Keller and Adler discussed the painting, and even if Adler is behind the inquiries, he can't be certain that I was involved. This may all just be stirring up the leaves to see what's underneath."

"You're right. Fowler's business in Europe probably has no connection to you." Mozzie's tone spoke more clearly than his words. He didn't believe it, and neither did Neal.

 **Burke residence, Brooklyn. March 4, 2005. Friday evening.**

By the time Friday rolled around, Peter was ready to celebrate. The case against Keller was proceeding on track. White Collar was back to its normal routine and so was Neal. Peter had kept him busy preparing a shopping list for authentication equipment now that White Collar would be spending more resources on art crimes. It was the best activity he could think of to get him focused on the future rather than obsessing about the demons of his past.

El had suggested a cheese fondue for Friday night. She'd put Neal in charge of making it while she prepared the Caesar salad. Peter was acting as sommelier.

When they'd all gathered at the dining room table, Peter raised his glass. "Here's to Keller's new address. He's behind bars where he belongs."

"I'll drink to that," Neal said, clinking glasses. He turned to El. "Did you know Keller was transferred today to the Allenwood High-security Penitentiary?"

"Good," she replied, nodding with satisfaction. "We can resume our normal lives."

Peter dipped his fork into the fondue and blew on a cube of cheese-soaked bread. "John Hobhouse called this morning. He hopes to have his team fully staffed in a few weeks. It goes without saying he was impressed with the Keller takedown. Not that Neal needs it, but his star is burnished even more."

"Yours, too," Neal said, raising his glass to him. "Thanks to you, I'm not in Moscow tonight, drinking whatever brainwashing drug they were going to use on me. By the way, Mozzie's taken it upon himself to research the possibilities. In retrospect, I probably shouldn't have told him what they were planning."

"He wouldn't actually conduct experiments on himself, would he?" El asked warily.

"I hope not, but with Mozzie it's hard to tell where truth ends and dreams begin."

Not wanting to even speculate on the nature of Mozzie's dreams, Peter brought the conversation back to the new task force, a far safer topic. "Hobhouse also asked about Aidan's software. He hopes to persuade the London museums to sign up for the program."

"Now that Tac-Con is over, Aidan will have more time to devote to it," Neal said, "but even during the final pre-convention frenzy, he managed to stay on schedule. Travis said they hope to have a beta version up in April."

"Have Aidan and Richard come down to earth after their successes at Tac-Con?" El asked.

"Not yet. They're still walking around with spacey grins on their faces. Richard starts this weekend at Scima. He met with Ian Forster, the head of Scima Gameworks, yesterday."

"Was he the one who made the presentation at the awards ceremony?" Peter asked.

He nodded. "Forster's already mentioned that he'd like to extend the three-month internship to six months and is dangling a future offer for full-time employment if all goes well. Richard's going to talk to his current employer about taking a leave of absence so he can work at Scima full time."

"What about Fiona?" El asked. "Has she heard about Paris?"

"Not yet. She thinks she'll hear next week."

"Do I need to replenish my supply of antacids?" Peter asked, helping himself to more salad. "Are you going to continue to stress about her if she goes to Paris?"

Neal shrugged. "I probably should buy you a couple of extra boxes."

El shook her head disapprovingly. "Keller's locked up now. You have no cause to be concerned."

He gave them a rueful smile. "Keller's not the only one I have to worry about . . . all those French guys with their French accents."

El passed him the bread basket. "I know you're not looking forward to her being gone, and not just because of worrying about the Frenchmen."

Neal hesitated. "What I said was a joke, but honestly, she may be better off in France. Too many fire-breathing dragons in my world. I don't know that I could keep her safe from them all."

Peter winced. El had on more than one occasion voiced her disapproval of Neal being overly protective. She wasn't about to give Neal a pass for that remark. "Answer me this," she challenged. "Why do you keep trying to lock her up in a castle? That may be the last thing she wants."

"I don't think so. She'd like someone who'll be inside the castle with her and eventually the kids. A safe world. That's not my world."

Peter shook his head in frustration. "You're entitled just as much as anyone else to a family and happiness. People get hurt all the time, but that's life. You can't go around distancing yourself from those you care about. It's no way to live."

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Neal left shortly after dinner despite their attempts to persuade him to stay and watch a movie. Peter regretted they'd let the conversation take such a serious turn. That hadn't been his intention. El thought it might have been for the best and that he was leaving to think over what they'd said, but Peter had his doubts.

"What movie would you like to watch?" he asked, walking over to the bookcase.

She sat down on the couch and drew her legs up. "How about _The Mummy_ in honor of the case? You realize, I haven't seen the exhibition yet. We should go. You can give me a guided tour and show me all the famous spots. Where Neal kissed Raquel . . . Where Sara calmed Fiona down . . . Where Neal faked his mortal wounding."

"Sara did mention she took Fiona by the mummies to relax. That wouldn't have been my choice."

El plumped a cushion and placed it behind her back. "We should have forced Neal to stay and watch it. _The Mummy_ has a great part for a female adventurer."

"You think he needs a role model?"

She nodded. "I think WITSEC made a more profound impact on him than we first realized. He's still hiding. Only now, it's not to shield himself but to shield others. Neal can't send those he cares about into WITSEC, but by distancing himself from them, he thinks he's keeping them safe." El shook her head. "I can see where he'd disappear into a new identity to protect those he loves."

"You could be right. We just witnessed that. The kid's willing to give up on a future with Fiona because he thinks he's bad for her."

"Fortunately we don't have to worry about him vanishing from our lives. Now that Keller's confessed to so much, Neal can relax. Klaus Mansfeld is dead. Keller's in prison. There may be hope for him and Fiona yet."

 **La Palette Bistro. March 5, 2005. Saturday evening.**

"I can't believe it's really over. We can be out on the town once more." Fiona set down her wine glass and leaned toward him. "I can even reach over and give you a kiss and not care who sees me."

Neal grinned and leaned forward. "Let's test that theory." On a Saturday night every table at La Palette was taken. Neal had considered having her over for dinner in the loft, but he was glad he'd changed his mind. He hoped this would make up for canceling their original plans to come here when Keller appeared on the scene. There was no longer any need to hide the fact they were a couple.

They'd already placed their orders. This was the perfect opportunity to bring up the subject. He'd been thinking about how to handle it ever since the discussion with Peter and El.

"It is over, isn't it?" she asked. "Keller's not going to be released on some technicality?"

"No worries, there. He's agreed to a plea bargain that should keep him locked up for decades."

"Then what is it? You're looking unusually serious for someone who should be celebrating. You weren't injured, were you? You told me the drug wore off the same day."

"And it did," he hastened to assure her.

"Should I take your word on that? No hidden bruises or gaping wounds? I may need to verify that for myself," she added with a mischievous smile.

"Excellent idea. I'm going to hold you to that. Although you shouldn't have worried—not after you gave me that amulet."

"I'm glad it worked so well." She paused for a moment, fingering her wine glass. "You do realize you've been driving me crazy over the past few weeks."

Fiona too? Was this now his theme song? Even El was exasperated with him. "I'm sorry. Is it any comfort that I was driving myself crazy along with everyone else? I hated the thought that I'd put you at risk and freely admit I didn't handle it very well."

Her expression grew serious. "What if I'm willing to accept the risk? Do you think you're ever going to trust that I won't fall apart when you're involved in something dangerous?"

"It's not a question of trusting you. It's just . . . are you sure that's what you want?"

She put a hand on his arm. "Let's find out. I might just surprise you."

Suddenly the path forward didn't seem that difficult after all as he realized he felt happier than he had in a long time. He took her hand and grasped it tightly. "I am and thank you for not giving up on me. What you see before you is the new, improved Neal Caffrey. I can't talk about everything that's involved with my job, but I promise to share what I can and not just on this case but on the earlier cases."

The smile on her face convinced him he'd made the right decision. "Good, because I have a few questions for you."

Neal sat back in his chair. "Fire away when ready."

"Let's start with something easy . . . like Raquel. Who is she? How long have you known her? And is she going to pop back into your life sometime?"

 **Burke residence. March 6, 2005. Sunday afternoon.**

Peter had executed the plan perfectly. He'd finished the outside chores. There was ample time left to make the popcorn and finish the crossword puzzle before the game started. The New York Rangers were playing the Toronto Maple Leaves, one of the most highly anticipated matches of the season. El was out shopping. Wise woman. She knew he'd be lousy company for the next few hours. Nothing was going to interfere with his afternoon.

When the phone rang, he debated answering it. If this was an emergency which was going to wreck his afternoon, did he really want to know? With a sigh, he acknowledged he did.

"Peter, you got a moment?"

"Sure, what's up?" Peter braced himself for what was coming. Had Azathoth resurfaced? Was Fowler lurking in the bushes outside his house? Or was it some other criminal from Neal's checkered past that Peter didn't know about yet? Peter had half a mind to walk to his gun safe as he talked.

"I thought you'd like to know, I followed your advice."

Peter sank back down in the couch. "You did?"

"You don't need to sound so surprised. It does occasionally happen, you know."

"So, details please."

"I took Fiona to La Palette last night."

Peter nodded. "Excellent choice. Home field advantage. Play from your strength." That was Neal's favorite restaurant and he was a close friend of the chef.

"We talked—really talked. I gave her a high level overview of what happened at the Met—about as much as you told El. I explained who Bolotnov was, even discussed the initial frame attempt in the fall."

"Did you tell her about Azathoth?"

"I did and you know what her reaction was?"

"To suggest you sign you up for more insurance?"

"Very funny. No, she wants to write ballads about our adventures."

"Good one, Fiona," Peter said with a laugh. "I want to hear those songs. So you two are in a good spot now?"

"Yeah, we are. Amazingly she's not ready to dump me." He paused for a moment. "I know you'll find this incredible but she accused me of driving her crazy."

"No! You?"

He chuckled. "I thought you'd appreciate that."

"I'll have to call her up. We can form a mutual support group."

"What can I say? It's a gift."

"One you could work on."

"Are you sure? Wouldn't you miss it?"

"Trust me, I could adjust."

 **A castle in Hungary. March 6, 2005. Sunday.**

"What was he thinking?" She stood up and strode over to the glass patio doors. The view of the wooded hillside blanketed with snow did little to chill her anger. "He's showing off and I don't like it. Explain to me how that stunt at the convention was worth the risk."

He stilled his fingers on the piano keys and walked over to the walnut sideboard. Picking up the crystal decanter, he poured cognac into two cut-glass snifters. "My brother's an expert, darling. You should trust him," he said, handing her a glass. "When I outlined the original concept, I warned you that the type of psychological warfare we were embarking on would be lengthy and at times appear illogical."

She took a sip. "He should be concentrating on our latest targets, not planting ridiculous codes."

"Once the lion cub is working with us, you'll have no more doubts," he pointed out calmly, stroking her back. "In any case, you have no reason to complain at the profit we've made for you. You're letting what happened with the art crimes task force color your thinking."

She acknowledged the truth to his words with a nod. "Kramer bungled that badly. He swore he'd be the one selected. The man may have outlived his usefulness."

"His heavy-handed tactics got him nowhere, but his very clumsiness may have worked to our advantage. Unwittingly he planted the seeds to make our future position even stronger." He gave a low chuckle. "We should thank him for providing the means of making London a reality. Kramer's performed valuable services for us up to now. I'm sure I don't need to remind you of his assistance with the Raphael painting. I say we give him another chance."

"I'll consider it." She turned to face him and set down her glass. "What about the cub's protector? Have you decided how best to use him?"

"Not yet. Each of the different options has value. The profile we've built up over the past few months indicates several vulnerabilities. How the events play out in Paris will be pivotal in our ultimate decision."

She nodded. "I had my doubts about your strategy on the Braque painting, but it's proceeding exactly as you predicted."

He shrugged. "Another example of Kramer's usefulness. Learning that the Braque hadn't been included in his confession was the key ingredient. The university semester is over in mid-May. We expect the trap to be sprung by the end of June."

"Are the plans ready for next month?"

"Of course. Bryan McKenzie has been keeping us well informed. The acquisition will give us additional leverage for Kramer to use. But the news is not all positive. It doesn't appear that McKenzie will be able to sign up his protégée. He warned our agent that she's not as pliable as he thought."

"That's unfortunate. She would have made an excellent addition. McKenzie's skills are formidable. He may be able to sway her yet."

"Possibly, but I had our agent advise him to prepare contingency plans. As for the target McKenzie supplied us, I've decided to do the job myself."

"Are you sure that's wise? I thought we'd decided on Hagen."

He held off answering for a moment. The sun was sinking behind the hills, casting an orange glow to the woods. In the fields to the west, a flock of geese took flight. "I've grown restless. It's time I cross the pond."

She pulled him toward her and toyed with the buttons of his silk shirt. "I'll miss you, _mon chéri_."

"And I you"—he pulled her into an embrace—"but the gift I'll bring you will make up for it. After that, a more months and the lion cub will be ours without him even being aware of it."

* * *

 ** _Notes_** _: _Thanks for reading! I hope you got as much pleasure out of The Mirror as I did in writing it. Special thanks and my heartfelt appreciation to the truly amazing Penna Nomen for her stellar achievements as muse, editor, cheerleader, and angst-reliever throughout these 16 chapters.__

 _As we take leave of the team, Neal and Peter are in a good spot, but the bad guys are still out there, plotting. Since their plan will take a little while to hatch, Neal and Peter can relax and enjoy the moment. They may wish to watch "He Drives Me Crazy," which is the name of one of my favorite White Collar fanvids. I've pinned it to The Mirror board of our Pinterest site. There are also pins of that castle in Hungary, but not of the two speakers in the castle, alas._

 _Keller had a convoluted history with Russians both in canon and in The Mirror. I've written about the Russian angle in our AU for our blog. Penna's written about Henry in a post called "Henry Winslow: Neal Caffrey's Alternate Me."_

 _This chapter was posted on May 25—Geek Pride Day, and Mozzie and Travis wandered into the writer's cave to wish all the geeks out there the best of celebrations. Live Long and Prosper, fellow geeks!_

 ** _Upcoming Stories_** _: I'm excited to announce that in early June Penna Nomen is going to post a vignette about Neal going on spring break and celebrating his birthday. Mark your calendars—you're in for a special treat. This is the first chapter in a series called Caffrey Vignettes. The title is Spring Break._

 _Starting on Wednesday, June 8, I'll post the first of Diana's stories, Arkham Files: Visions from Beyond. The story is 6 chapters long with new chapters to be posted weekly._

 _Once that story is complete, I'll return to the current timeline. My next story is called Whispers in the Night and concerns a weekend in suburban New Jersey that Neal, Peter, and Mozzie will never forget. The action takes place in April, roughly one month after the conclusion of The Mirror, and includes the help of the Winchester brothers from the TV series Supernatural._

 _After that it's back to the main storyline with Raphael's Dragon when the Dutchman returns and Bryan McKenzie is in town. Azathoth is plotting new mind games and more about the mystery swirling around that Braque painting comes to light._

 ** _Blog_** _: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation_  
 ** _Chapter Visuals and Music_** _: The Mirror board on the Caffrey Conversation Pinterest website_


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